Challengers
by brickroad16
Summary: When Arthur thinks that Merlin and Morgana's friendship has started to push the bounds of propriety, Morgana has to make a decision. M/M.
1. Challengers

Disclaimer: Well, it's been fewer than twelve hours since I posted my last story, and . . . nope, still don't own "Merlin!" :P

A/N: This is the second of my three servant stories. Again, this will probably be two parts. And, again, it's crazy and it gets kind of OOC and AU, haha. But what's the use of wasting something I've written? :P Let me know how you like it!

* * *

_We are the challengers of  
The unknown.  
- "Challengers," The New Pornographers._

* * *

Morgana lets a wave of laughter wash over her. After spending so long cooped up inside the castle – cooped up inside _herself_ – spending time with him over the past few weeks has introduced her to a freedom she never knew existed. She can be herself with him, doesn't have to worry if she's using proper manners or behaving as a young lady of the court ought to. She can be a normal woman, with thoughts and fears and hopes and dreams, all of which she can share with him, all of which he _listens_ to without judgment.

And he makes her laugh.

Before he came into her life, when was the last time she'd let go of her anxieties and really _laughed_?

Morgana tilts her face upward, her pale neck exposed to the late-summer sunlight, her laughter fading into the breeze.

Merlin, taking advantage of her momentary distraction, spurs his horse onward and takes off into a gallop.

"Last one back to the castle is an ogre!" he shouts over his shoulder, his face split into a grin.

"That's not fair!" she protests, nevertheless pressing her knees together in an effort to urge the brown-red mare beneath her to quicken her pace. Boudicca, well-trained and intelligent, responds rapidly, snorting and tossing her head as she drives onward. Morgana leans forward against the wind, pats the horse's neck, and whispers, "Atta girl, Boo. Atta girl."

Boudicca catches up to Merlin's horse, a dappled gray named Mercury, just as they reach the city limits. The two companions race down the street, the horses' hooves clattering over the cobblestones. Morgana's dark brown hair streams in the wind. Merlin's jacket flaps open, the fringe of his scarf whips around his neck. The noise – their laughter – attracts attention, and the king's ward and the prince's manservant do not go unnoticed by the townspeople.

They pass by the market, the sights and sounds and smells barely catching their attention as they ride swiftly past, so caught up are they in their game.

Boudicca inches past Mercury, and Morgana glances tauntingly over at Merlin. "Looks like I'll beat you," she smiles. "As usual."

"We're not there yet," he retorts, urging his horse faster. "And I'm _not_ going to do your laundry this week."

"You have to do laundry every week anyways!"

Merlin leans close to Mercury's neck, stroking it softly, and, with renewed vigor, the horse breaks out in front of Boudicca and disappears around a corner into the castle courtyard. Morgana laughs and pursues them, pulling her mare to a skidding stop when she sees Mercury rearing up.

And when the gray clatters back onto all four hooves, Morgana can see Arthur standing just in front of the horse, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight.

He does not look pleased.

She sidles Boudicca up alongside Mercury, the mare letting out a happy snort after the exercise.

Morgana swallows. "Arthur."

The prince raises an unamused eyebrow, causing the color to drain from Merlin's face, already pale to begin with, as he dismounts. The servant steps over to help Morgana down from her horse, but Arthur clears his throat and intervenes. He offers a hand to his foster sister, who refuses the help with appointed look and dismounts on her own.

Arthur takes hold of Boudicca's reins and hands them to Merlin. "Go unsaddle the horses," he orders, keeping his disgruntled gaze locked with Morgana's defiant one. "And when you're finished, you can muck out the stables."

Merlin glances between his two friends, but takes the reins and trudges off towards the stables without a word.

Sighing heavily, Morgana turns on her heel and storms inside the castle.

"You can't act like this, Morgana."

"And you shouldn't be so hard on him," she suggests grimly. "There are lots of servants who can clean the stables."

Arthur runs up the first few steps to catch up with her and argues, "Exactly, Morgana! He is a servant. He's _my_ servant. And he needs to understand that he is here to work, to serve the kingdom, not to cater to your every whim." He frowns. "It's not . . . _seemly_ for you to spend time together."

"Why not?"

He sighs as they walk through the entrance and turn down a corridor. "Because royals cannot be friends with servants."

She stops and looks him in the eye. "_You're_ friends with him. _I'm_ friends with Gwen. You've never objected to that."

"That's different," he scoffs.

"Why? Why should it be?"

"Because," he stammers, "you need a friend who can understand your . . . _womanly_ things."

Rolling her eyes at the explanation, she prompts, "And you and Merlin?"

"If he's going to be my servant and go practically everywhere with me, it's best I like him, don't you think?"

"Then what's the difference with me and Merlin? Why can't I be friends with him?"

"Because, Morgana," he states shortly before resuming his walk down the corridor.

She follows, determined to elicit a proper response. Grabbing onto his sleeve, she forces him to face her and says, "That's not an answer!"

"Because he has feelings for you, all right?"

It comes out more like an exasperated roar than a rational explanation, but it's more than enough to catch Morgana's attention.

She pulls herself to a sudden stop, her mind reeling. She's considered it, of course – not that _he_ was in love with _her_, only that _she_ could be falling for _him_. She's invented a future where they were safe with each other, dreamt of a world where she could claim him as her choice and the announcement wouldn't raise anyone's suspicions. She's seen a little girl with pale cheeks but bright blue eyes and an infectious grin, a tiny boy with his father's laugh and penchant for mischief.

He's been her only refuge after her return from the Druid camp. But she's pushed away visions of his angled cheekbones, his adorably oversized ears, pushed away thoughts of how his lips would feel against hers, what it would be like to sleep beside his lanky body.

Instead, she's told herself he could be nothing more than a friend. She will marry soon, and force herself to focus on her wifely duties in an endeavor to forget about the boy who's inadvertently and clumsily stolen her heart. Still, he's the only one she can talk to, the only one who will listen to her dreams, the only one who doesn't cower at the very mention of the word 'magic,'

And therein lies her fatal error.

The more time she spends with him, the more she longs for him, longs to escape from Camelot to begin a new life with him.

But Merlin feeling the same?

She's often teased him about all the kitchen girls having crushes on him, but she hasn't realized until this moment why he'd always blush so furiously.

He's different, she knows, than any other man she'd met. He isn't awed by her position, or tongue-tied by her beauty (though he _is_ frequently tongue-tied simply by nature). He isn't even trying to gain anything for himself by befriending her.

He's just Merlin – kind-hearted, generous, true.

And she's let down her guard enough to fall for him.

Arthur, sighing, crosses his arms and leans his back against the stone wall. "Look, Morgana," he says gently, his voice calling her out of her haze, "if it were up to me, I'd turn my head and let you be happy. But the king's starting to notice that _my_ manservant spends more time with _you_ than he does with _me_. And I don't think you'll like the consequences if he puts it all together."

"Arthur . . ." she pleads quietly, looking up at him.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," he frowns. He stands up straight, preparing to end the conversation. "I know it's not fair, but perhaps you will be together one day."

She wants to scream at him, to rail and argue until she runs out of words. But something about Arthur's face stops her. She can see how this will turn out. Like she's watching a play in front of her eyes, she watches Uther as he pronounces judgment upon them, watches Merlin go through the heartache when they're inevitably torn apart.

And she can't do that to him, can't do that to either of them.

Arthur's mouth set in a grim line, he heaves a great sigh and pronounces, "You have to end it. I'm sorry." When she still doesn't reply, he says, "Think of it this way: you can end it on your own terms, or the king will end it on his."

* * *

One last ride, she tells herself. One last ride before the end.

The sky clouds over before they go, and he wants to wait, but she insists. They ride out of the town and into the countryside, the thunder growing louder as they go. Merlin's expression darkens along with the sky, but the heaviness in Morgana's heart doesn't stem from the approaching storm.

"Morgana," he says, "we should go back."

"Just a few more minutes," she pleads.

A few more precious moments before she's forced to cast him aside.

Before he can protest, the dark clouds open up, and it begins to pour. Thick drops of rain splash onto her face. Merlin, pulling his horse up alongside hers, points to a farmstead in the distance.

"There," he says over the sound of the thunder. "The barn."

Off her nod, they take off in a gallop. The horses' hooves clomp over the sodden ground as they race towards the barn. Boudicca pushes as fast as she can, snorting with the exertion, but Morgana's clothes are already soaked through by the time they reach the barn.

Merlin dismounts rapidly and heaves the door open. With a sigh, Morgana follows him inside, leading Boudicca behind her. He finds a few open stalls and some extra blankets, and the two of them work quickly to get the horses calmed, dried off and settled. When the horses are taken care of, Merlin steps towards her and throws a blanket around her shoulders.

"Are you cold?" he asks softly.

Water's still dripping from their hair and clothes, and she's shivering even with the thick wool blanket around her.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

Merlin nods. The heat radiating from him is intoxicating, and Morgana finds herself unconsciously stepping close enough to lean into him. Hesitantly, he slides an arm around her.

She feels the spasm in his chest as his breath hitches. Swallowing nervously, she realizes that her sudden inability to breathe has nothing to do with the fact that she's dripping wet and everything to do with the fact that Merlin's arms are wrapped around her so comfortably.

She's spent so many years searching for meaning, and he can fill her up just by holding her.

Tilting her head, she finds herself staring at a bead of rain that's coursing its way down the side of his nose and over his lip. She knows she shouldn't be doing this – shouldn't be here at all – but she really can't help herself. She reaches up and brushes the drop away.

Merlin's gaze pierces hers, but he doesn't make a move.

"If you were not you," she whispers, "and I were not I, would you kiss me right now?"

"Yes."

"Then why not kiss me anyways?"

He sighs regretfully, licking the rain off his lips. "Because, as much as I want to, I know what will happen to me when the king finds out."

Teasing his bottom lip with her thumb, she asks quietly, "What about what I want?"

And this time she doesn't wait for him to answer. She slides a hand to his hair, still dripping wet, and pulls him down to her. His lips are smooth, soft, the touch of them sending a thrilling spark through her heart.

"Morgana," he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers.

Her heart aches at the note of regret in his voice.

But he pulls away suddenly, pushes her behind him, and stands in front of her protectively. A split second later, the door of the barn opens to reveal a young farmer, his clothes covered with grime and mud.

He holds up a lantern, squinting into the darkness of the barn. "Lady Morgana?" he questions.

Merlin reluctantly steps aside, and Morgana takes a step forward. She inclines her head and explains formally, "We were out for an afternoon ride when the storm hit and we took refuge in here. We apologize for any inconvenience, and reparation will be made when we have a chance. If you would only let us wait out the storm, though, we'd be most grateful."

"My lady," the farmer greets with a bow. Clearing his throat and standing up straight, he tilts his head. "Well, you'd better come in then."


	2. Rain and Revelations

A/N: Well, I've decided that this is going to be a bit longer than two chapters. Possibly four at this point.

Also, Mnem and I are going to continue to pimp each other's fics, lol. So much so that I'm even including a link to hers right here, so you can go read it if you haven't already! (And really, if you haven't, you _must_.) Mnem's _I Love to Serve_:

www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/s/5670537/1/I_Love_to_Serve

_

* * *

It's enough just to find love  
It's the only thing to be sure of.  
- "The Longest Night," Howie Day_

_

* * *

_

"I don't wish to be a burden. We only stopped for shelter from the rain."

"Nonsense," Alice says as she herds Morgana into the bedroom of the tiny farmhouse.

She's a kind-looking woman, a few years older than the royal ward with dusky skin and darker hair but smiling eyes. Morgana likes her instantly. After having people dance around you because of your status, it's refreshing to meet someone who doesn't care a whit about it.

Alice had welcomed both Morgana and Merlin with open arms, not caring that one was noble and the other a peasant. She'd insisted that Caleb find Merlin some dry clothes and that she'd do the same for Morgana. But there were no downcast eyes, no uncertain words. It was like she was Alice's little sister come home from a foolish ride in the rain, and Alice was determined to take care of her.

So Morgana finds herself in a room with just a wardrobe and a small bed with a hand-woven brown and green blanket at the foot of it. Alice begins to poke through the wardrobe for a dress in a close-enough size, and Morgana self-consciously realizes that the rainwater from her clothes is dripping onto the wooden floor.

Alice turns around, holding up a plain gray dress. "Not what you're used to, I'm sure, but it's dry."

"It's lovely. Thank you."

* * *

The two men work quietly as they lay out Merlin's wet clothes in front of the fire. The dry material of Merlin's borrowed shirt feels nice against his skin, and he takes a step closer to the blaze to warm himself.

"Thank you," Merlin says, "for giving us shelter. The barn would have sufficed."

Without turning his back, Caleb grunts, which Merlin takes to mean something about duty. He nods. After spending most of his days with Arthur, or the boasting knights, or the chattering servants, he can understand a man of few words.

In fact, he welcomes it.

Merlin settles onto the bench as Caleb sets about dinner. He wishes he could help, but figures the stern farmer won't take kindly to that. Instead, when he hears a faint whimper from the crib in the corner, he rises and walks across the room to find a small baby staring back at him.

The baby has a swath of light brown hair, two deep dimples, and dazzling gray eyes.

Merlin smiles and looks at Caleb. "Should I . . . ?"

Caleb, distracted as he's trying to make dinner, nods. "Uh, if you could. Be careful, though. He's not one for strangers."

Carefully, Merlin scoops up the babe and holds him to his chest. The little boy's tears subside as a smile appears on his face.

"See, there you go," Merlin says in a voice that's dangerously close to a coo. He turns to Caleb. "What's his name?"

"We call him Nicholas."

"Hullo, Nicholas."

Merlin bounces the baby, who lets out a gurgly laugh. He grins. Even with the storm raging outside, even with the one inside his heart, something about this scene calms him down, makes him smile, makes him see the beauty in simple things.

* * *

Morgana stares into a small, unpolished mirror as Alice finishes with her hair. She feels like she's living another life. Strange how little things can have so much influence. A borrowed dress, an unfamiliar room, some flowers in her hair.

And she wonders if she could ever get used to this, if she could leave court life for the simplicity and the honesty of a life like this one.

"Thank you, Alice," she says, bringing a hand up to touch the wreath of daisies in her hair. "I feel beautiful."

Alice leans around her shoulder to look at their reflection in their mirror. "You _are_ beautiful, my dear."

Morgana sighs. "Sometimes I don't feel it." When Alice drops her eyes, a flutter of fear goes through her chest. "What is it?"

Smiling shyly, the young woman asks, "Doesn't _he_ make you feel beautiful?"

"Merlin?" Morgana replies, her eyebrows raised in shock.

"Forgive me for being so forward, but that boy out there is in love with you. It's written on his face. And I know how beautiful I feel when Caleb looks at me like he looks at you."

Morgana smiles sadly. "Even so, it can never be."

"You are young. You must have faith," Alice encourages.

She's up and nearly out the door before Morgana can reply, and the royal ward has no choice but to follow her hostess into the main room, where Caleb is finishing dinner. Her gaze alights on Merlin in the corner, holding a giggling baby in his arms. He's dressed in borrowed clothes, the shirt fitting him better than his own shirts fit him, its fabric clinging gently to his torso.

Morgana swallows, unable to tear her eyes away.

She's never seen him in such a position before, but he looks so comfortable, so _happy_. And she finds herself wondering again whether how their lives could have been different. What if she had not been born noble? What if they had been from the same village, had both been peasants, had been equals?

In such a world, they could have had this – a house, a family, a life. Love, even.

But he is not her equal.

He is kind and true and noble in character if not in blood, and he may be her superior in goodness, but he is still a servant. She is still the king's ward. And they have no right to love each other.

His position in the castle is already so precarious. She cannot ask him to risk his future for her, for a love that isn't meant to be.

Morgana strides over to the windowsill and settles down beside him. "So can we add amusing babies to your growing list of hidden talents?" she teases.

Laughing, Merlin holds up the baby. "This is Nicholas. I think he likes you."

"He seems to really like you," she smiles as she thumbs the babe's nose.

He shrugs. "Part of my natural charm, I suppose. Want to hold him?"

Morgana's smile fades. "No," she answers quietly. "I don't think so."

"Come on!"

"I really don't think –"

But Merlin's already deposited the laughing tot into her arms. The weight is surprisingly comfortable, and her unease melts away as Nicholas smiles up at her.

"If you bounce him a bit, he seems to like that."

Morgana rolls her eyes. He's been with the baby for half-an-hour and already knows him like a son. But she takes his advice anyways, bouncing him on her knee, and she finds herself grinning when Nicholas giggles in delight.

"It suits you," Merlin says. She glances up, and he clarifies, "The dress. It suits you. The flowers, too."

Morgana fights the blush that appears in her cheeks. She's been told countless times before that she looks beautiful, and all while wearing dresses better-made than this one, but the gleam in Merlin's eye and the smile on his face make her heart race.

Yes, Merlin _does_ make her feel beautiful.

"You have a lovely family," she tells Alice and Caleb.

Alice pauses as she slices a loaf of bread to smile knowingly, her eyes flickering over Merlin. "Thank you."

Caleb brings the pot of stew to the table. "Dinner," he nods.

* * *

The sun hangs low in the sky by the time the weather is clear enough for them to return to the castle. Walking their horses through the field, the damp grass up to their knees, Morgana and Merlin stroll side-by-side.

"Thanks for coming with me, Merlin," she says quietly.

He smiles. "Of course. I just hope Arthur hasn't dreamed up another ten jobs for me by the time I get back."

Morgana chuckles, stroking Boudicca's neck thoughtfully. "Do you know why I brought you with me today?" He shakes his head. Sighing, she explains, "Arthur told me that Uther was getting suspicious about us."

"'Us'?"

"He thought we were spending too much time together. He said it wasn't proper."

"Because I am a servant," Merlin surmises, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Morgana nods, her lips pursed. "I do . . . feel for you, Merlin."

"But you cannot love outside of your station."

She squeezes her eyes shut, wishing he'd stop finishing her thoughts for her, wishing he'd stop trying to make this _easy_ for her. Why can't he just get angry? Shouldn't he hate the fact that society keeps them apart? Shouldn't he be railing against the status quo?

But instead he slips her hand into hers, locking their fingers, and says, "Sometimes the future seems so far away, and all that we have to carry us through is hope."

Her brow knots. She doesn't want to rely on hope. Hopes can be dashed, dreams can never come. "What if we kept it a secret?"

"A secret like that would tear us apart."

"No, you're right."

She shakes her head, cursing herself for voicing the question. She'd already known that he could never agree to something like that. He deserves so much more. He deserves something real.

He gives her hand a squeeze. "We may not be able to be together right now, but I'll never stop being your friend, Morgana."

Morgana presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Merlin."

And for a while, his hand in hers brings a peace to her heart. He makes her think that, maybe someday, they'll get their chance. But then, just as the sun's dipping below the horizon behind them, they cross into town, and Merlin drops her hand.

After all, it's not proper for the king's ward to hold hands with the prince's manservant.


	3. Kept Promises

A/N: So, this seems to keep growing. I'm up to five chapters now? Lol, and you can blame my recent creative outburst on my current extreme disinterest with school.

Hmm . . . I think I'm picking up on Mnem's style a bit. She can decide whether that's a compliment or not. :P

_

* * *

Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me  
And all I can do is try.  
- "Try," Nelly Furtado_

_

* * *

_

Morgana smiles in relief as she lets Merlin into her chambers. After the near-catastrophe with Aredian and Gaius, his face is a welcome one. A lopsided grin gracing his angular features, he holds up a batch of freshly-picked pink and purple flowers.

"I just wanted to check to see if you were okay."

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, gathering the flowers and holding them up to her nose. She closes her eyes as she breathes in the scent. "They're lovely."

"I thought you'd like them," he tells her, turning his back as he retrieves a vase. He sets it on the table and says, "You know, I know I seem scatterbrained a lot of times. But even when I've got a thousand thoughts in my head, you should know that you're always one of them. And I always want to help you even if I'm . . ."

"Pulled in different directions?" she queries gently.

"Exactly. . . ."

"Well," she murmurs as she helps him arrange the flowers, "I know you must have more important things than coming to talk to me." She pauses to smile at him and say emphatically, "So thank you."

"No," he says, stopping her hand when she reaches for a stem. She looks up in surprise to meet the earnest look on his face. "I don't," he insists. "Because you're not alone."

Morgana's heart flutters. They haven't been able to spend much time together over the past few weeks, but somehow the knowledge that she'll always have him means more to her than anything, more than approval from Uther or even the freedom to explore and practice magic.

* * *

"How have you been sleeping lately?"

"I haven't slept this well since before I came to Camelot."

"This is because of Morgause's bracelet?"

She nods.

Merlin's eyes turn dark, and he gets this faraway look that she doesn't quite understand.

He sighs and asks, "Will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Just . . . be careful around her. I don't think she's trustworthy."

"Of course."

* * *

She still remembers that look when she finds a note on her windowsill. Morgause wants to meet, and for a while, she's tempted to take her up on the offer. Something about the older woman is intriguing, familiar, and she suspects they're chasing similar goals.

But she also remembers how heartbroken he was when he'd confronted her about the crystal last week. The betrayed look in his eyes is one she can't forget no matter how hard she tries, one she's not sure she wants to. It's a reminder of what she's done to him, what she can't do to him again.

So she crumples the note and tosses it into the fire. She goes about her business, trying her best to forget about the note. The day goes by in a haze, and Morgana doesn't really remember anything when she wakes up in Merlin's bed, without a clue as to how she's gotten there.

"Merlin?" she calls groggily.

Late afternoon sunlight streams through the tiny, dusty window. She sits up, a bewildered expression on her face. If this were anyone else's bed, she'd be thinking very unsavory thoughts about its owner.

But it's _Merlin_.

There has to be an explanation for why she's waking up here in the middle of the day.

"Merlin!"

The man in question pokes his head around the doorway. "Good," he grins. "You're awake."

"I'm awake, but what am I doing here?"

Stepping inside, he frowns thoughtfully and scratches his head. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She sighs, presses her hands to her eyes. "Uh . . . Gwen and I were getting tired. Which was unusual, since we'd both slept well the night before. So I came down here looking for Gaius. We thought he may have an explanation, or a draught or something."

Merlin smiles. "Well, you've certainly missed a lot. The rest of the castle, too."

"What do you mean?"

"Morgause attacked. She put the town under a sleeping spell. Arthur and I came back to find everyone asleep and Morgause about to storm the castle with her knights."

Morgana's heart sinks. Shakily, she asks, "What happened? Is everyone all right? Is . . . Uther all right?"

Sighing heavily, he nods. "Mostly, yeah."

"Mostly?"

"Morgause . . . used one of the guards as a vessel for the spell. He and Arthur fought."

"And Arthur won."

"Yes."

Morgana leans her head back against the wall. She can only imagine what it must have been like for Merlin and Arthur, battling an . . . enemy like Morgause alone. Then she remembers the older woman's strange interest in her.

"You know," she confesses, "Morgause left me a note yesterday. She wanted me to meet her."

Merlin, his eyes narrowed, looks at her sharply. "Did you? Did you meet her?"

She shakes her head. He looks at the floor, his brow furrowed, that dark look on his face again.

"What?" she asks quietly. "What is it?"

"It's just," he begins, swallowing thickly, "this could have turned out so differently." He looks up, his blue eyes piercing into hers. "I'm glad it hasn't, that's all."

She senses that he's holding something back, but the weariness in his posture tells her that this isn't the time to push him. "And Morgause?" she prompts gently.

"Once Arthur defeated the guard and stopped the spell, we were able to drive her out of Camelot."

"She'll be back though."

"Most likely. And she'll probably be _very_ irritated when she returns."

Despite the situation, despite how tired she still feels, Morgana lets out a laugh.

Merlin can always make her laugh.

* * *

Morgana offers her patient a weak smile as she ties off a bandage. The elderly woman isn't hurt badly, but Morgana's doing what she can to help with the smaller injuries while Gaius and the other physicians tend to the more serious ones.

"Thank you, Lady Morgana."

She pauses before asking quietly, "The damage in the town, is it very great?"

"Towns can always be rebuilt. It's the men and women we've lost that I grieve for."

Morgana turns away slightly to look out the window. Fires are raging outside, only a fraction of the evidence of the damage the dragon's already done. Her thoughts wander to Alice, Caleb, and Nicholas; and she wonders if they've been caught in the dragon's net of destruction.

She stands up, closing her eyes to the pain and devastation surrounding her.

Merlin and Arthur are out there somewhere, on a quest to find a Dragonlord. At this point, the two men are Camelot's last hope. But Morgana's finding it hard to care whether Camelot is saved. Even with the destruction and the conflagrations and the pain and the sorrow staring her in the face, all she cares about is him.

All she wants is for him to come home safely.

* * *

She sits on his bed, twirling a small wooden model of a dragon between her fingers. She's never seen this before and finds it slightly ironic that it seems to have shown up just when the kingdom is battling a _real_ dragon.

Morgana closes her eyes and breathes out slowly.

Things have gone so wrong lately. The castle has barely had a moment's peace in the past few weeks; she's barely had the chance to talk to him. They've scraped a few moments together, scarcely enough for each to make sure the other isn't breaking down.

But if he and Arthur die tonight . . . Heaven forbid, but if that happens, she can't let him go without telling him how she feels.

Merlin bursts through the door to Gaius's study, stopping short in the doorway to his room when he sees her on the bed. "Morgana?"

Standing up, she bites her lip and asks shakily, "Are you really going?"

"I have to," he says desperately, moving towards her. "I know you won't understand, but it's the only way."

"You're not even a knight, Merlin," she argues. "You're not trained for something like this."

"I have to protect Arthur, protect Camelot."

She pauses. Her voice is quiet when she asks, "With your magic?"

His cheeks pale. "H-how . . . ?"

Morgana turns the dragon over in her slender fingers. "It took me a while to put it together, but it finally all makes sense."

"You're not, you're not angry?" he asks cautiously with a tilt of his head.

"No, I'm _very_ angry," she assures him. She hates the fact that he's kept a secret like this from her, but then she thinks back to all the times he's reached out to her, let her know she's not alone. "But I can't be angry, not after everything you've done."

"Not right now," he adds solemnly.

Morgana looks up suddenly. She'd been prepared to dance around the fact that this could be the last time she sees him, the last night he spends on this earth. But it's just like Merlin to force her to face what she's so afraid of. A wave of longing suffuses her, covers the fear. Dropping the dragon figurine onto the bed, she strides forward, takes his face between her hands, and presses a desperate kiss to his lips.

Merlin looks like he doesn't quite know what to do when she pulls away, and there's not much else to say anyways. Nothing she can say will stop him from going.

He's too damn noble.

So instead she licks her lips and starts for the door.

"Godspeed, Merlin," she murmurs.

"Morgana."

She stops, but doesn't turn around. She takes a deep, uneven breath and turns her eyes upward as she waits for him to speak.

Finally, he sighs and says, "I'll come back. We both will."

But that's a promise he's not in a position to make, and too often in the past she's relied on the empty promises of others only to set herself up for heartbreak.

Blinking back a tear, Morgana quickly walks away before she allows herself to believe him.

* * *

"Morgana, please, will you sit down?"

"I can't."

"You're going to wear yourself out, not to mention wear a hole in the floor."

"Gwen, I cannot be idle. Idleness will drive me mad."

* * *

She and Gwen both know what's proper, what's expected. She should hug her foster brother, and Gwen should hug her friend. That is the order of things, and order keeps the kingdom running smoothly.

But this is no ordinary night. This is not a time for blindly following what should be.

So Gwen hugs Arthur, and Morgana pulls Merlin into a fierce embrace.

She holds him tightly, afraid to let him go, afraid to let the tears spill. She banishes terrible thoughts of what could have been from her mind and reminds herself that he's here, safe, in her arms.

And when he whispers, his breath warm against her ear, "I'll always come back to you," her heart skips a beat.

He's kept his promise.

Her stomach does a flip as his arms tighten around her waist, and she realizes that he's the kind of man who always keeps his promises, especially the ones he makes to her.


	4. Respite from these days

A/N: Have you read Mnem's fic yet? No? Then get to it! Then come back here. :P

If you're enjoying this story, please take a minute to tell me why! Even if you don't like something, tell me that too. :)

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* * *

Whatever the mess you are, you're mine, okay?  
- "Challengers," The New Pornographers_

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* * *

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Morgana keeps watch through the dark night.

Merlin is passed out in her bed, but she can't sleep. She's exhausted, should get some rest, but her mind won't be still. She keeps thinking of the dragon, what Arthur and Merlin must have gone through. The dragon had killed so many, slaughtered the dozen knights Arthur had taken with him, and yet the two men had returned triumphant and nearly unscathed.

And so, so tired.

After a brief discussion with his father, Arthur had immediately retreated to his room. Merlin had hardly been able to stay awake in the throne room while Arthur made the report, and it hadn't been a difficult feat to drag him back to her room so he could collapse onto her bed, so much softer than his.

Sometimes, all she has to offer is a comfortable bed after a long day, but sometimes that can be enough.

Merlin's been asleep for hours now, has barely moved a muscle since he crumpled into a heap against the pillows. She'd thrown a blanket over him and has been keeping guard over him and tending to the fire ever since. Standing at the window, she watches the stars move slowly across the sky. The horizon is beginning to lighten ever so slightly as the moon dips low.

Dogwatch of the night.

Morgana sucks in a breath and releases it slowly, releases the tension from her shoulders. Behind her, Merlin stirs. She turns, ready to meet his needs.

"Is it morning yet?" he grumbles groggily.

She strides across the room, sits down beside him on the mattress, and answers quietly, "Not quite."

Merlin takes a deep, heavy breath and rubs his eyes. His dark hair sticks out at all angles, sticks out in relief against the white linen of the pillows.

"Have you slept at all?" he asks, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

Morgana smiles. It's just like Merlin to be concerned for her after the kind of night he's had. "Of course," she assures him. "But it's still early. You should go back to sleep."

"I need to be up soon," he shakes his head stubbornly and lifts himself onto his elbows, but his voice holds no force. "Arthur'll be expecting his breakfast."

Placing a hand on his chest, she pushes him back down and says, "No. Rest. I highly doubt Arthur will be awake any time soon. Not after last night."

"Still . . ."

"No, Merlin. You and Arthur fought and defeated a dragon last night. You're allowed a day off."

He smiles, closing his eyes again. After a moment, he concedes quietly, "It _is_ very comfortable here."

Morgana chuckles, letting her eyes linger on his gaunt face. Normally, she'd never allow herself such a temptation, but this is no normal situation. She could have lost him last night, and for a while, she thought she had.

His cheeks, normally so pale, are even more pallid after the previous night's heroic venture. Tenderly, she brushes his bangs off his forehead, letting her fingers glide down the hollow of his cheek.

"Are you hungry?" she asks softly. "I can have some breakfast brought up for you, maybe some soup if you're cold." He shakes his head, and she presses, "At least drink some wine."

Obligingly, he takes the cup from the bedside table and takes a few sips, but with a smile that says it's just because she asked.

"See?" she asks cheekily. "Feel better?"

Merlin nods, falls back against the pillows, and pulls the blankets up around himself. "The wine helped, but I'm still cold," he says quietly.

"Then I'll put a few logs on the fire, and find you another blanket."

Morgana stokes the fire, makes sure it's blazing, before rummaging through her wardrobe for an extra blanket. She returns to his side and spreads it over him, tucking it carefully around his shoulders and under his chin.

"Is that better?"

He looks up, his eyes heavy, and she takes a deep, calming breath as his eyes pierce hers. She's never seen him look so vulnerable.

"Will you stay with me?" he whispers.

"Of course," she assures him. "As long as you want me to."

He scoots over, lifting up the corner of the blankets. With a smile, she slides in beside him, her smile widening when he rests his head upon her shoulder. She sighs softly, almost contentedly, feels daring enough to run her fingers through his hair. Merlin curls into her, clinging to her like she's his last breath of life.

Morgana can just imagine the scandal that would erupt should anyone burst in on them. But she finds it hard to care. Merlin's lanky, sinewy body feels like the perfect complement to her softer, curvier one.

Not matter what anyone says, how could anything that brings such comfort be wrong?

She relaxes, combing her fingers rhythmically through his hair. His breathing is so even that she starts to think he's fallen back asleep.

But then he stirs slightly, turning over to lie on his back, his head still pillowed on her breast, and breathes, "Morgana . . . I met my father."

The confession sends a shock through her. She had thought his exhaustion had been from the fight, that his unease of mind had stemmed from killing a living creature, or from the destruction the dragon had wrought before he and Arthur had gotten to it.

She'd never imagined this.

She'd never heard him even mention his father, and for him to suddenly appear is . . . astonishing, to say the least. She's not sure if this is any of her business. She's not very good at being a friend.

"Merlin, I don't need – "

"But I need to talk about it," he insists in a low voice. "And you're the only one I can talk to. You're the only one who will understand."

She nods, curling a lock of his hair around her forefinger. "Okay, Merlin," she murmurs, "okay."

Taking a deep breath, he idly grabs her free hand and interweaves their fingers. "You know Uther sent us after the last surviving Dragonlord?"

"Yes, but Arthur said he died."

"He was my father."

"Merlin . . ." she whispers, closing her eyes.

For him to just find his father and then lose him once again must be torture.

"He never knew I existed. When Uther first outlawed magic, he hunted down the Dragonlords. My father took refuge in Ealdor, where he met my mother. But they tracked him there, and it wasn't safe for her. He left before I was born, before she even knew she was with child, I think."

"He left to protect your mother."

Merlin nods, staring up at the ceiling. "I know. But I wonder what it would have been like to have him around." A smile gracing his lips, he adds, "I think, it would have been easier, knowing I wasn't the only one with magic."

She remembers all the times he came to her room to talk, to assure her that she wasn't going mad, or to let her know that magic could be used for good as well as evil.

Squeezing his hand, she says, "You're not alone, Merlin. Not anymore."

He brings her hand up and brushes his lips over her knuckles. "I know," he replies softly, his warm breath tickling her skin. "But I just found him, Morgana. After twenty years of not knowing – whether I would ever make him proud, or whether he loved me, or even whether he was still alive – I find out that he's a _Dragonlord_."

Letting out a sigh, he runs a weary hand over his eyes.

She doesn't know what to say to him, isn't sure she even understands the concept of a Dragonlord, or how they differ from regular old sorcerers. What she does understand, though, is the pain that radiates from his body, the tension in his shoulders and the furrow in his brow.

"And now you're a Dragonlord?" she asks gently.

"The last one," he tells her, a hint of regret in his voice.

She frowns. "But Merlin, you defeated the dragon. If you hadn't been a Dragonlord, you wouldn't have been able to do that. You saved the kingdom."

He disentangles himself from her, flips over, and props himself up on an elbow. "I set him free."

Morgana sits up. "You did what?"

"I set the dragon free."

She shakes her head, avoiding his eyes. The thought that Merlin – the man who's protected Arthur, protected Camelot, without a second thought for his own safety – unleashed a terrifying dragon that destroyed half the town is just too impossible to believe. "No," she protests, "you would never have done that."

"I didn't know what he was going to do, I swear it."

"'He'?"

With a grimace, Merlin lets his head sink to her shoulder. "You don't understand. He's helped me before. He was chained up beneath the castle, and he helped me when I didn't know where to turn."

"So you just . . . set him free?"

"I thought it was the right thing to do. I kept promising to free him, and after he helped me defeat Morgause . . . I did."

She doesn't know what he wants, what he needs, right now. If this were anyone else, she might know how to handle his guilt. Even if she didn't, she'd at least try to deal with it by forcing some sense into him.

Instead, terrified, she tangles her fingers into his hair and forces him to pick his head up. "Merlin," she says, looking him straight in the eye, those gloriously enchanting blue-gold eyes. "You cannot blame yourself. I know you. You would lay down your life for Camelot, for Arthur, and you could never intentionally harm anyone. You made a choice to set the dragon free, because you made a promise. If he attacked Camelot after he led you believe he wouldn't, then he betrayed you."

She presses a kiss to his forehead, running her thumb over his cheekbone. "Do you understand? You are not to blame."

Nodding, he lets out a shuddery breath and lies back down. Her hair flutters as he exhales and asks, "Would it be all right if we just lay here and forgot about everything?"

Morgana lets out a light chuckle as she strokes his forehead. "Absolutely."

She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. Even his scent, so earthy and familiar, is soothing. She suddenly knows sleep will come easily this morning, and it has nothing to do with Morgause's bracelet.

* * *

Arthur's awake when she goes to see him. As it's mid-afternoon, that's no surprise, but as she had left Merlin still passed out in her chambers, she hadn't been certain the prince would be awake yet either.

But he's sitting and eating dinner at the table. Other than the slightly tired look on his face, he seems none the worse for wear after last night's tussle.

"Ah, good morning, Morgana," he greets.

"Afternoon," she smirks, although she can't really blame him as she's just woken up herself.

"Yes, well," he shrugs. "Have you come to congratulate me?"

"On what?"

Merlin hasn't told her many of the details, and she doesn't want to push him, but she highly suspects that his dark-haired, clumsy manservant had more to do with the dragon's defeat than the valiant prince.

"On defeating the dragon, of course!"

"Of course," she rolls her eyes. "Congratulations on being a prat."

Arthur's eyes widen. "Why am I a prat?"

"Because people care about you, and all _you_ care about is the fact that you killed a dragon, not that you happened to save the kingdom by killing that dragon."

Leaning back in his chair, Arthur concedes the point with a smile. "I am pleased that I was able to rid the kingdom of the beast. My only regret is that it took so long."

A hint of sadness flits through his eyes, and Morgana reads the underlying loss. Camelot has lost much; rebuilding will be a task. But if anyone is up to rallying the townsfolk, it is Arthur.

He looks up suddenly and asks, "Have you seen Merlin? Gwen says she hasn't seen him, and I need some shirts mended. If he's still asleep –"

"You just woke up!" she accuses playfully. "Surely someone else can mend your shirts. Besides, Merlin's not exactly the best . . . seamster?"

"I suppose not, but have you seen him?"

"Arthur, he fought a dragon with you last night, and he was the only one to come back, despite his lack of combat knowledge. He needs rest. Can't you give him a day off?"

"Wait a minute," he says, gazing at her suspiciously. "You're hiding him, aren't you?"

"'Hiding him'?" she scoffs. "Please, Arthur."

"But you are! He's in your chambers or something. You're keeping him away from everybody."

Morgana lifts an eyebrow. "And if I am? He's exhausted. I wasn't going to let him sleep in that sorry excuse for a bed he has." She neglects to mention that _she_ has slept there once before and has firsthand knowledge of how uncomfortable servants' beds are. "Besides, I thought you'd be less likely to find him and make him polish your armor or something equally ridiculous."

"Fine. Most of the day's gone anyways. He can have the rest of it off."

"Thank you, Arthur."

"But _be_ _careful_," he advises. "You know what the king would do if he found out."

"Of course," she nods, turning to go.

"And take care of him." She turns to gaze curiously at him, but Arthur just shrugs and adds, "As useless as he is sometimes, he's the best manservant I've had."

Morgana rolls her eyes. "I will." Striding over to her foster brother, she places a hand on his arm. "But, Arthur, I'll trust you to take care of him as well. You have a very special man in your employ."

He stands up, shaking her hand off, and teases, "Don't go getting all mushy on me now, Morgana. I don't want to hear about how the stars rise in his eyes, or whatever other poetic crap you lovers come up with."

Morgana laughs. "And your love for Gwen is not filled with poetry?" Arthur glares at her. She soothes him with a chaste kiss on the cheek. "For what it's worth, Arthur, I'm proud of you. You may still be a prat sometimes, but you have a kind heart, and you will make a fine king one day."

His arms crossed against his broad chest, he gives her a solemn nod, and she turns to go. When she reaches the door, he calls, "I promise, Morgana."

"Thank you, Arthur," she smiles.

Between the two of them – if Arthur protects his life, and Morgana protects his magic – perhaps Merlin will have a fighting chance in a world that doesn't value him, could never understand someone like him.

* * *

She returns to her room to find that Gwen's already brought up dinner, enough for the two of them. He's awake and sitting up in bed, looking more relaxed than she's seen him lately, and she plops down beside him with a laugh. As they eat, she can almost imagine what it'd be like to have this every day – to wake up beside him, curl into him, lie lazily in bed until they feel like facing the day.

But that is just a dream, and it doesn't take much to bring her back to reality.

They can't risk him staying here another night, so he returns to Gaius's chambers in the early evening, leaving her to her solitude. She doesn't see him again for another few days, when the town begins restoration work.

Glancing up from the well where she and Gwen are drawing water, Morgana watches as Merlin and two other men from the kitchen staff transport lumber across the street. When they drop the planks of wood, Morgana sets down her bucket of water and walks over to them.

"Merlin," she greets, happy to see him again.

Merlin, shooting her a lopsided smile, inclines his head. "Milady."

"I expected you to be with Arthur."

She expected it, although she breathes easier because he's _not_ out with Arthur and the knights, on a hunting expedition to supplement the low food supply.

"So did I," he tells her. "I suspect he got tired of me always clumsily announcing our presence to the animals." His grin fades when he adds, "That's fine when it's sport. Not so much when people are actually in need of food."

She offers him a smile, resists the urge to tweak his chin. Instead, she gestures to the work around them. "You're helping here."

He nods, places his hands out his hips, and catches his breath. "I know, I know."

Morgana frowns, noticing the sweat beading on his forehead. He's probably been working all morning without a break. "Have you taken a break lately? Let me get you some water."

Merlin shakes his head, throwing a glance to the workers around them. "No, thanks. That's okay, really. I'm fine. I'll take a break when the others do."

She's about to protest, but all of the sudden he won't meet her eyes. Looking around, she takes note of everyone watching them surreptitiously, watching to see why the king's ward is so friendly with the prince's manservant. Of course. No need to arouse suspicion.

Even so, she imagines the slight distance between them widen as he shifts nervously from one foot to the other, anxious to get back to work.

With a farewell nod, she departs and returns to the task at hand. She, Gwen, and a few of the other ladies spend the next half-hour shuttling water buckets between the well and sites that need mortar, where homes are being rebuilt. After a morning of the work, her shoulders are aching, and there's a sharp pain in her lower back. She stretches and looks up at the sky, squints when she sees the sun straight above.

"It's nearly noon," she tells Gwen.

Her handmaiden smiles. "Nearly lunchtime then."

"One more round, do you think?"

Gwen nods, and they fill four more buckets with water. Morgana exhales slowly as she bends down to hoist the rod upon her shoulders.

"You should lift with your knees, you know."

She swivels to find Merlin grinning down at her, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Here," he offers as he squats down beside her, "let me."

"I can do it," she protests, pushing his arms away.

"I know you can, but I want to. Besides," he smiles, lifting the rod to his shoulders and getting to his feet, "isn't it my job?"

Morgana rises, swallowing down the feeling of how unfair all of this is. She can't give him a drink of water because the whole town is looking on and might read into it, but he can – is even _expected_ to – take on her tasks because he's already a servant, and what's one more chore? What's one more lost hour? What's one more aching muscle?

Morgana sighs, watching his retreating form. She forces herself not to follow, quells the longing that's bubbling up and threatening to burst out of her chest. It'd be no use anyway.

Because really, what's one more silent broken heart?


	5. The Days Go By

A/N: Apologies for the delay. I just had trouble writing this chapter. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's probably the best it'll get, lol.

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Here in these deep city lights  
A girl could get lost tonight  
I'm finding every reason to be gone  
Nothing here to hold on to  
Could I hold you?  
- "City," Sara Bareilles_

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Summer fades into autumn, and with it goes whatever semblance of peace Morgana feels in her heart.

She's trapped, caged in a life where she has neither opinions nor cares. And she's tired of having nothing to live for, nothing to give her purpose. She sometimes lies awake at night and tries to coax the magic out of her skin, but even that leaves her feeling empty, because she has no idea how to go about it.

She has no one to talk to either. Uther, with his harsh laws and stern ways of thought, is unwavering in his hatred of sorcery. Arthur would never understand, or he'd try to get her to take up a womanly hobby. Gwen is sweet, and tries to keep her occupied as best she can, but she has such a fear of magic.

Merlin, though, he's someone who can help. He knows what she's going through, and perhaps he feels the same crushing asphyxiation that stems from their enforced separation.

She has a feeling he could be everything she needs, that his deep blue eyes and his gentle laugh are just the things she wants after a day filled with nothing but frustration.

But she's barely seen him at all in the past few weeks. He's been busy with defending Camelot and polishing Arthur's boots and delivering Gaius's remedies; he has no time anymore for silly things like making her feel not so alone, or bringing her freshly-picked pick-me-up flowers.

He's always been an amazing friend, to everyone. She can't expect him to meet her every need, not when he's stretched so thin.

So she suffers in silence, watching the days flow by like the trickling sand in an hourglass.

* * *

Winter comes, bringing foul weather but a pleasant atmosphere. The approaching holiday puts everyone in a better mood, even the servants, who are generally overworked and overwrought at this time of the year. There's a kind of magic in the air, one that makes people friendlier, makes them smile at one another as they pass in the corridor, or offer help when it's needed.

But for Morgana, the wintry weather – the grey sky and the falling snow and the gusting winds – means only that she can no longer venture out of the castle at will. She can no longer take meandering walks through the market, or go visit Alice, Caleb, and Nicholas as often as she's used to.

Even though she's in the castle more, she sees her friends less. Gwen and Merlin are too busy readying the hall, decorating the visiting quarters with sprigs of mistletoe and evergreen trees and branches. Occasionally, she goes to visit Gaius, but he always wants to talk about how she's sleeping, or medicine, or a new herbal remedy he's perfected. That's when she rolls her eyes and chastises herself for thinking he'd ever stop trying to be an uncle to her.

So, as the long winter afternoons drag on, she takes to playing chess against herself, the marble pieces a molasses-like progression of white and black, white and black, in itself a movement so ironically reflective of her life.

* * *

Springtime.

A season for renewal.

What better time for Morgana to reinvent herself? She takes to charity work, which is a suitable enough outlet for women of her station that even Uther can't complain. She begins to spend her time bringing baskets of fresh food to the poor, getting to know their families and helping them in any way she can.

She spends more time with Alice now. Nicholas is just beginning to walk, and she's there the day he takes his very first wobbly steps. An unrecognizable pain tugs at her heart as she watches the young boy – giggling as he falls down and hoists himself back up with the aid of the bench – but she pushes it down to dwell on the joy that comes from witnessing the beginnings of a life filled with such potential.

* * *

Summer brings the season of tournaments and festivities.

She attends them, has to for the sake of propriety. But the truth is, she barely notices what happens during them. She barely notices one mid-summer day when Arthur takes second place to Gawain – tall, strong, strapping Gawain, whom all of the ladies of the court are absolutely agog about.

What she does notice though is the appraising look Uther gives the knight before shifting his gaze to her.

She swallows hard, turns back toward the stadium, and tries to forget about the implications behind such a look. She is of marriageable age, and Gawain is exactly the type of man to win a lady's favor and a king's approval.

But she could never marry Gawain; her heart is already full.

After the day's games, as she returns to the castle, she comes across a young boy, no more than seven, staring up at the banners hung over the tournament entrance, a forlorn look upon his adorably round face.

"Is everything all right?" she asks him with a gentle smile.

The boy looks up, his eyes wide. "Please, my lady," he says, pointing to the banners, "what do they say?'

She glances up at the flags. "You cannot read?" she questions.

He shakes his head. Morgana squats down, places a hand on his back, and points to the word. "It says _wel-come_, you see?" she explains, carefully emphasizing the syllables as she points out the letters. "And that one over there, it says _Pen-dragon_. That is Arthur's banner." She watches as a smile grows on the boy's face. "What's your name?" she asks.

"Harry."

"Harry. Have I seen you around before?"

"I-I work in the kitchens."

"Well, that must be it, then." Standing up, she tousles his hair and says, "Be good, Harry, okay? And if you ever need me, you know where to find me."

The boy takes off into the crowd, and Morgana watches him go with a stirring in her heart.

It's later that night when she dreams up a new charitable scheme. She's never stopped to think about how many peasants can't read. Some know enough to get by in their trade. Most, she realizes now, know nothing beyond how to sign their own name, if they know even that. But Merlin, with his insatiable mind and thirst for knowledge, can usually be found with his nose in a book whenever he's relaxing in Gaius's study.

After getting used to his level of learning, it hadn't occurred to her that he wouldn't exactly be representative of his estate.

Uther has indulged, even encouraged, her recent burst of altruism. He thinks it'll breed good will among the peasants to see a royal out among them, helping. But even so, he is still Uther, stuck in his outdated notions of the world. So it really shouldn't surprise her when he shoots down her plan without hesitation.

But it does. She goes to him in good faith, thinking she can maybe get him to see things from her point of view, and she leaves shocked, upset, angry.

She can't return to her chambers, knowing that the only thing awaiting her there is crushing solitude. Instead, she storms out of the throne room, races down the castle steps, and rushes through the town. Se runs until she has no more breath in her lungs, until she's deep in the forest.

She stops a moment, braces her back against a tree to catch her breath. Running a hand through her hair, she gazes at the sky above, a brilliant blue dappled with bright clouds and partially blotted out by leaves. She feels so lost, so out of place, and there's no where she can turn. Sometimes she just wants to run away, to disappear into the hoi polloi and transform into someone else, into a person who doesn't have responsibilities, who doesn't have expectations to live up to.

"Hello, there."

Startled by the voice, Morgana looks up into the unshaven, unsavory face of a young man dressed in a roughly-sewn cloak.

He leers at her, showing uneven, yellowing teeth. "You aren't all alone out here, are you?"

Morgana, anger flashing in her eyes, stands up straight and says, "Of course not. My brother ran on ahead."

The man swaggers toward her and leans his face close to hers. She can smell the stale mead on his breath when he says, "Don't lie to me, dearie. I know who you are, and I know what you can give me."

She shrinks from him and takes an involuntary step backward. "What do you want?"

"All I want is your purse. Give me that, and maybe I won't hurt you."

Morgana sets her jaw, fuming. What right has he to demand things of her? Life can be overwhelmingly stifling sometimes, and she can understand his frustration, but becoming an outlaw is not the answer.

"What makes you think I have any money?" she asks, and there's a voice inside (one that sounds remarkably like Merlin) warning her to not push too far.

But that's what Morgana does. She pushes and pushes until something snaps –maybe the other person, maybe her.

Laughing, the man takes a dagger out of his belt. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"Step away from the girl."

A third figure, this one a tall, hooded man with a regal bearing, has appeared behind the bandit. His arms crossed against his thick chest, he stares the outlaw down.

In a deep voice, he says, "Believe me when I say, you do not want to trouble this young lady."

The bandit turns with a sneer. "And why is that?"

The newcomer lowers his cowl and steps forward. "Because I can make you regret your whole life, every evil deed you've done, with just a thought."

Suddenly losing his nerve, the outlaw takes a shaky step backward. "You're a, you're a Druid? But the Druids are peaceful."

"Not when threatened," the Druid growls, pulling himself up to full, intimidating height.

The outlaw sheaths his dagger and nods. "All right, all right. I'm going. Just . . . no magic."

The Druid stares him down until he's disappeared into the trees. Turning to Morgana, he smiles. "I'm sorry about that," he says, his low voice surprisingly gentle. "You had best be careful. There are bandits in these woods."

"Thank you," Morgana breathes. "You've saved my life."

"It was my duty."

"Because I am the king's ward?"

He pauses a moment, his smile wavering, before saying, "Because you are one of us, if I'm not mistaken."

Maybe it's because he's just driven off a thief, maybe it's because of the way he just _knows_ she has magic, but, for some reason, Morgana feels like she can trust this man. She nods.

The man inclines his head. "My name is Regulus. Pleased to be of service, my lady."

"Morgana. Call me 'Morgana'."

"Of course. You know, I was on my way back to camp. It's just a mile or so east. Perhaps you'd like to accompany me. We may not be able to offer wine as good as what you drink in the castle, but we have food enough for you to regain your strength."

Morgana's heart nearly breaks at his kindness.

"Thank you," she says, "but I should return to the castle now."

"Of course. Allow me to escort you back to town."

He holds out an arm out for her to pass, and they walk in comfortable silence back to the edge of town. No more bandits, no more threats, and Morgana feels strangely safe in her new acquaintance's presence.

When they reach the town walls, Regulus stops. "This is as far as I go," he says. He gives her a smile, his steel-grey eyes alighting on hers. "But remember, Lady Morgana, should you ever need a friend, should you ever need a place to go, you are always welcome among our people."

"Thank you, Regulus. I don't think you understand how much I appreciate that."

"I was young once, too," he assures her with a light chuckle. "I know what it's like to feel alone."

"And the others at the camp?" she asks, curious.

"Everyone there has been through the same thing. We've been ostracized, looked down upon, regarded with fear. But together, we're a family."

Morgana knows exactly what he's talking about, and a sudden longing suffuses her. She has a family, certainly. Uther tries to be fatherly, and Arthur is like a brother to her. But ever since her real father died, she hasn't felt that soothing familial pull. She wonders what it'd be like to join them, to be with people _like_ her, every moment of every day.

Regulus's eyes sparkle when he adds, "Don't forget: you're always welcome. And keep safe. I imagine living under Uther's thumb cannot be easy."

And he's gone before she can say anything, before she can even thank him.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Morgana's mind continually reverts to Regulus and his offer. Every time she passes Merlin in the courtyard, or sees him following after Arthur, she wonders what it would have been like to grow up with someone like him, what it would have been like to be aware and unafraid of her abilities, what it would be like to have that _now_.

She's drowning here, drifting between what's expected of her and what her heart desires.

And she finds she cannot take it.

There is nothing she desires more than freedom – the freedom to discover her magic, to step on the cracks of society, to simply be who she is.

So, on the final day of summer, Morgana retreats to her room in the early evening. Out her window, she can see the celebratory bonfires of the peasantry, and she can hear their shouts and their songs. Once again, she's disconnected from everything, set apart from the world. But even that realization only reinforces her decision.

With a deep breath, Morgana digs a pack out of the bottom of her wardrobe and throws it onto her bed. None of her dresses are fit to bring, but she rolls the plainest into a ball and stuffs it into the pack. Just when she's starting to wonder if any of her current possessions are worth bringing along, Gwen stumbles into the room, her sewing basket tucked under her arm.

"My lady?" she queries in surprise, noting the pack thrown open on top of the covers.

"Gwen . . ."

"What are you doing? What's going on?"

Morgana crosses the room and puts her hands on Gwen's arms. "Gwen, I'm so sorry."

Her handmaiden's forehead creases in bewilderment, and Morgana hates that she must betray her best friend in order to be true to herself.

"You're leaving?" Gwen asks quietly.

The only thing Morgana can do is wrap her friend in a fierce embrace. "I know it's hard for you to understand," she says, "but I cannot stay here any longer. I will go mad."

"But where will you go?"

Pulling away, Morgana bites her lip. Gwen doesn't like magic, doesn't even like to talk about it. "Somewhere safe," she assures her servant.

"And you're just going to leave without telling anyone? Without telling Arthur? Or Merlin?"

"It's easier this way, for everyone." She walks over to her desk and picks up an envelope. "But I've written to Arthur, explaining. Will you give it to him for me?"

With trembling fingers, Gwen takes the envelope from Morgana's outstretched hand. She nods reluctantly.

Morgana takes a breath, trying not to dwell on how much she'll miss her friend when she's gone. "And will you ask him not to come after me? I will come back when I'm ready."

"And when will that be? When Uther is gone?"

Morgana drops her eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the truth behind those words. But perhaps Uther is not the only one holding her back. It remains to be seen whether Arthur is cut from the same cloth.

"And what shall I tell Merlin?" Gwen asks. "If Arthur doesn't go after you, Merlin surely will."

"Then you must make sure he doesn't. And tell him . . . tell him it's hard to say goodbye."

* * *

Early on the morn of the autumnal equinox, the king's ward, shrouded in a dark cloak, slips out of the castle and into the shadows. The fear stirred in her heart by chasing a new situation is easily outweighed by the prospects of what she hopes to find. She leaves a privileged life, one that promises her deference and respect simply for being born to her position, but also one of solitude. She leaves that for the unknown – a life of exploration, of self-knowledge, and perhaps even of dignity.

And even though it makes her heart break to leave everyone she loves behind, she will gain a family, and maybe even find herself amid the ashes.


	6. Two Homes, One Heart

A/N: I'm sure anyone who has made it to chapter six of this story has also read Mnem's lovely M/M fic, _I Love to Serve_, but I just thought I'd take a moment to alert those who haven't read it yet. Because it's really getting good! :)

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! I promise this won't be much longer, probably just one more chapter, maybe two . . . lol.

_

* * *

Everything I lost seems so different.  
Well, this is how everybody gets found.  
- "Gardenia," Mandy Moore_

* * *

There was once a time when she believed that life consisted of fancy gowns, raucous feasts, and jousting tournaments. But since she left the castle five weeks ago, Morgana has been figuring out that life is so much more than those things. It's waking up and taking a lungful of fresh air; it's being with people who understand you in and out; it's finding that burst of magic inside of you and nurturing it until it sparks into life.

That's what Morgana loves about living in the woods with the Druids. With their guidance, she's finally learning how to trust her own judgment. The cloud that's hung over her since she came to Camelot is finally dissipating.

She spends her mornings with Regulus usually, and Anne, a young woman around her age, another Seer. With their help, her dreams become clearer, less oppressive. Mordred's there as well. She never gets the full story about how he found this new group, or where Alvarr's gotten to, or how the boy managed to escape Arthur's scourge the previous summer, but their connection is still there. The afternoons she spends with the rest of the camp, doing chores and simply basking in the feeling that comes from belonging to a group.

She and Mordred are picking fresh radishes one afternoon when they're startled by a visitor. Morgana, a surprised smile on her face, stands and brushes the dirt off her dress. Merlin stands before her, a pack on his shoulders, a lopsided grin on his face, his dark hair shaggier than normal and hanging over his ears.

With three strides, she's in front of him and pulling him into a tight hug. Suddenly, she remembers how much she's missed this, missed just feeling his body against hers.

"What are you doing here?" she murmurs.

"I came to see you, of course."

Morgana holds him at arm's length to look into his dazzlingly blue eyes. Has it taken him five weeks to find her? Or, worse still –

"You're not here to bring me back, are you?" she asks.

"A part of me wishes I were," he smiles. Shaking his head, he adds, "But no, Gwen made your wishes quite clear."

"So you're here . . ."

He doesn't answer, his suddenly steely gaze fixed on a point over her shoulder. She turns her head to find Mordred staring back at Merlin, an equally dark look on his young face. Frowning, Morgana takes Merlin by the hand and leads him deeper into the trees.

"Come on," she says.

Seeing that he continues to stare at Mordred as they go, she reaches up to cup his cheek and force him to look at her.

"Hey, what was that about?" she asks.

Merlin shrugs, his jaw taut. "I just don't trust him very much, that's all."

"Well, forget about him, all right?"

Smiling sheepishly, he sets his pack on the ground, takes out a brown cloak, and holds it out to her. "Here," he says. "This is for you. Gwen made it; I . . . embellished it a bit."

"'Embellished'?" Morgana asks with a laugh as she accepts the gift. It's soft to the touch, and warm.

"Of course. It'll keep you dry when it rains, warm when the wind blows. We weren't sure what we could do for you, but we thought it'd be just the thing you needed for the coming winter."

"Thank you, Merlin," she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "And thank Gwen for me." She pulls him down to the bed of leaves covering the ground, where they sit with their backs against the trunk of a tree. Turning her head to look at him, she asks, "Does Arthur know you're here?"

"No," Merlin answers softly.

They're silent for a moment, listening to the leaves rustling in the wind, before Morgana works up the courage to ask, "How is he?"

"He's . . . not bad. He was hurt when you left, but I think part of him understands."

"And I'm sure I have you to thank for helping him understand."

Without answering, Merlin slips his hand into hers. He doesn't meet her eyes as he says, "You know, birch bark is best for starting a fire. And you should always drink from running water only, and boil your water when you can. And you have to grow into your power, so don't try big spells right away. And if you ever need a fire, there are spells for holding one in your palm or starting a small one with whatever kindling you have available. They're simple. I can show you if –"

"Merlin," she cuts him off, a smile tugging at her lips as she runs her thumb over his knuckles. He glances up, and she says simply, "Thank you."

The truth is it's not his job to protect her anymore. Maybe it never was.

"Morgana . . ." he breathes. "Why?"

She rests her head on his shoulder, uncertain that Merlin – so preoccupied with destiny and duty – can even understand the concept of chasing inner fulfillment. After taking a deep breath, she says, "It's complicated, Merlin. For so long, I was growing out of the role Uther had forced me into. I needed to find somewhere to belong, somewhere I could be myself without being afraid. I know you of all people can understand that."

"But to just pick up and leave? How could you be sure that Uther wouldn't come after you? How did you know that Arthur would follow your wishes?"

"I didn't. But I trust Arthur, and I knew Gwen would help convince him. Uther, though, I suspected he would let me go."

"But you're like a daughter to him."

"Not anymore," she replies softly. "Not since last year, with the crystal. I pushed him too much, pushed him too far." She sighs. "It's probably for the best anyways."

"Maybe . . ."

She can tell there's something more he wants to say, but she's not going to prod, not going to push him in case he's the one to break.

So they sit quietly for a while before Merlin finally says, "I miss you. I miss just having you around."

"I know," she murmurs.

Unexpectedly, Merlin pulls her into a gentle embrace and says quietly, "I just needed to see you again. I needed to know that you were okay."

And even though he doesn't have to protect her, she finds comfort in the fact that he still tries.

Leaning into his comforting warmth, Morgana draws in a deep breath. There's so much they need to say, so much weighing her down. But she's relaxed here, with him. Surely he can sense that. So, instead of trying to bare her contradictory, convoluted heart, Morgana simply says, "You need a haircut, you know."

Merlin laughs softly, causing a smile to spread on Morgana's lips.

She's forgotten how much she loves to hear his laugh.

* * *

Winter dawns, and the forest is covered in glistening snow now, but Merlin's visits bring an inexplicable warmth. Even as she learns more about camp life and learns new tasks with each passing days, Morgana finds herself awaiting him. She hones her talent, learns to discern from her dreams when he will arrive. And each time she dreams of him, she wakes with a smile on her face.

He never stays for more than a few hours. He's stealing time, sometimes with Arthur's consent, most often not. When he comes, he brings gifts – from Gwen, from Arthur, from Alice and Caleb, from himself – to make the transition from castle to forest easier. She doesn't need them, not really, because the Druids take care of their own, but she appreciates them more than he knows.

Most of all, though, she appreciates his smiles. She never thought about missing the way he can cheer her up when she's in a bad mood, or the way his grin somehow lights up his whole being, or the way his big ears and his angular cheeks and his deep-set eyes somehow combine to form a beautiful face. But he comes, and reminds her of everything she loves about him, everything she misses seeing every day, and somehow manages to not ask her to come back with him. And that restraint, that utter lack of concern for his own desires only makes her love him more.

One blustery winter day, just to show off a little bit, she cooks for him. They hunker down around a tiny fire in one of the camp's semi-permanent huts, thick cloaks wrapped around their shoulders and bowls of steaming stew in their laps. Morgana looks at him expectantly, almost hating the way she yearns for his approval.

Quietly, he asks, "What is this again?"

"Rabbit."

"Did you catch it yourself?" he chuckles before taking another bite.

"My hunting skills are improving," she laughs, "but they're not quite that good."

He looks up at her with a smile, the paltry flames throwing shadows across his face. "You'll get there soon," he assures her. He points to the stew with his fork and says, "At any rate, this is delicious. Gwen won't believe me when I tell her you know how to cook."

Morgana, touched by his praise and amused by his teasing, laughs brightly. "Thank you. And apparently it's one of those things you must witness first-hand."

"Or taste, in this case," he says.

"Indeed," she agrees good-naturedly. Watching him across the fire, watching the flames dance in his dark blue eyes, she's once again amazed as how comfortable his presence makes her feel.

For the most part, the Druids give them privacy whenever he's there. Not because the Druids don't trust him (well, _Mordred_ doesn't trust him, but that's a story she hasn't been able to get out of either him or Merlin), but simply because they see how much he means to her, how much she wants to keep this fragile thread of connection to Camelot intact.

As good of a mentor as Regulus is, he can't fill the emptiness that sneaks in when Merlin's not around. So Morgana begins to learn to balance the two faces of her life – the time she spends with the Druids and the time she spends with Merlin, however brief and infrequent that time may be.

He tells her of their friends, of what a noble, kindhearted prince Arthur is becoming, of how Gwen is becoming sweeter with each passing day, if that's even possible. He tells of Gaius, and the old man's perfection of a new look of censure. He tells of their latest adventures, their crazy schemes and brushes with death. Sometimes, though, he doesn't have to say anything. It's enough to sit beside him and listen to the gentle rhythm of his breathing. It's those moments – the moments when she's surrounded by the trees and the silence and this brilliant young man – that she feels true peace.

* * *

One time, before he leaves he kisses her against a tree. The bark is rough against her back, but his lips are smooth, and his arms are strong but gentle. She can feel her magic crackle into his, feel his pulse beat through her veins. The forest around them blooms into life, the spring that's trapped inside the branches and the buds awakening and bursting to get out.

Idly, she wonders if he understands how _right_ this is.

* * *

She's never felt freer than she does in the summertime, running through the meadows and traipsing through the brooks. All her life, a castle has been her home, its sturdy stone walls protecting her from the outside world. But the world is her home now, Mother Nature her guardian. She runs footraces with the deer, swims laps with the fish, challenges the swallows to singing contests.

So when Merlin appears one summer night, she cannot let him leave without experiencing the magic all around them. He's a gracious loser when she beats him in a race to the meadow; he even refrains from mentioning that she knows the terrain much better. Laughing, they lie down in the prickly grass, her head beside his as they lie in opposite directions, and watch the changing hues of the sky as the sun dips below the horizon. Night falls quickly, darkness overtaking the sky. One by one, the stars wink out at them, and fireflies illuminate the open field.

Lazily, Merlin picks a violet, holds it to his nose, and breathes deeply.

"I can see now why you stay," he murmurs.

Chuckling softly, she looks over to see that his eyes are closed in contentment, the flower now resting delicately on his chest. "You once made me a promise to come home," she says as she turns her gaze back to the stars, "and you deserve that same promise from me."

"But this is your home now," he replies softly, his voice but a whisper over the evening breeze that rustles through the grass. "I understand that."

She reaches up, twirls a lock of his hair around her forefinger, and assures him, "This is only temporary. Until I find my true place."

He looks over with a frown. "Until Arthur is on the throne?"

"Perhaps," she confesses. She sighs and props herself up on an elbow to look down at him. "I know this is hard. But I will come back to you. Do you trust me?"

He smiles at her and nods his head. "Yeah, I do."

With a smile of her own, she leans down to brush a gentle kiss across his lips to seal the promise. And for a moment, Morgana's two worlds stop playing tug-of-war with her. For a moment, she can simply be.


	7. I'll Burn This Bridge 'Til It's Gone

A/N: A thank-you to Mnem, because I was hitting a wall with where to take this, and a quick brainstorming session with her helped me figure it out. :)

* * *

_I'm tired of fighting, she said  
Your words just rattle my head  
All joy escapes in the dark  
And I can't make this make sense  
- "The Verb," The Swell Season_

_

* * *

Morgana_.

She's out in the fields gathering roots and herbs when she hears his voice in her head.

_There's someone here to see you_.

Standing up, brushing the dirt from her knees, and gathering her basket, she winds her way through the forest back to camp. She tries unsuccessfully to keep a smile from her face, tells herself it's silly to be this excited to see him.

But when she returns to the Druid camp, Merlin's nowhere to be found.

Mordred sits by a fire across the clearing, whittling a small piece of wood into a stallion. Next to him sit a young boy and a burly knight of Camelot. She strolls over to them.

"Mordred, what's going on?" she queries.

He gestures to his companions. "They wanted to see you."

Only after she takes a good look at the boy does she realize who he is.

"Harry," she greets in surprise, squatting down before him. "How are you?" His face is pale, and his small hands are shaking. She reaches out and grasps his fists in hers. "Harry, what's wrong?"

"Please, my lady," he says, "he told me to deliver the message only to you."

"Who did?"

"Merlin."

Morgana's breath catches in her throat, and she looks to the knight for confirmation. He nods, and she gently helps Harry to his feet.

"Let's take a walk then," she suggests mildly. "What did Merlin say?"

Once they're away from the camp, Harry looks up at her and says, "There's to be an attack, ordered by the king."

Morgana stops walking and drops to her knees, eyelevel, in front of him. "I don't understand."

Harry rubs at his forehead, trying to remember Merlin's precise words. "The prince is to wipe out the Druid encampments, to take no prisoners."

"The king has ordered this?"

The boy nods. "But Merlin says that he will keep the prince from this camp. That's what he wanted me to tell you. You'll be safe, my lady."

Morgana drops her head and lets out a slow breath.

A raid.

Even if Merlin has managed to keep her particular camp out of Uther's grasp, she can't ignore the fact that people – _her_ people – are going to perish this day.

She leans forward and slides a hand against Harry's cheek. "Thank you, Harry. You've been invaluable. But you need to return to Camelot. It's safer for you."

"Yes, my lady," he nods dutifully.

She leads him back to camp, and he and the knight leave for town again. After she watches them around a bend in the path, Morgana strides to Regulus's tent. He's outside, sitting on a tree stump and mending his boot.

He glances up when she appears before him, but doesn't say anything.

"We need to gather the able-bodied men and women," she announces.

Regulus pauses in his work. "What's happened?"

"There's to be an attack. On the other Druid encampments."

"Can you be sure?"

"Merlin's sent me word."

Standing, he nods and says somberly, "I'll call a gathering."

* * *

By the end of the afternoon, they're able to gather about a dozen men and women willing to go to their brothers' aid.

Regulus clears his throat, and Morgana shifts in her saddle to see Mordred at the edge of the clearing, walking toward them and clasping a belt and scabbard around his small waist. She slides off her horse with a sigh and meets him halfway.

"Mordred, what are you doing?"

"I'm going with you. I want to fight," he beseeches, looking up at her with that penetrating gaze of his.

She curses how easily he can win her over. But a battle is no place for a boy, and as often as she's given in to his wishes in the past, she can't give in today.

A frown furrowing her brow, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Mordred." When he opens his mouth to object, she kneels down and cups his cheek. "I understand why you want to fight, but there will a time for that. There will be another battle. For now, we need you to help protect those who must stay behind. Can you do that?"

Solemnly, he nods.

"Good," Morgana smiles. "Thank you. Do what you must to keep them safe. We will return as soon as we're able."

Mordred nods again, and there's a steely determination in his young jaw. She presses a quick kiss to his forehead before she rises and rejoins the party. As they ride off, Regulus in the lead, Morgana throws a glance over her shoulder. He's watching them forlornly, sadness heavy in his shoulders.

She remembers all those times being left in the castle, left to wait while Arthur and Merlin saved the day. As she sat idly in her chambers, that feeling of uselessness would eat at her, would snake under her skin, would push her alarmingly near the edge of madness. She loathes doing that same thing to Mordred, but what choice does she have? She cannot allow him to fight. He's so young, the knights of Camelot so ruthless. He would never survive, even with his extraordinary abilities.

And so she turns away from his dejected expression, taking comfort in her decision. He may be angry, may be upset with her, but at least he will live to see another day.

* * *

Morgana lets out a grunt as she pulls her sword from a knight's torso and kicks him to the ground. Panting, she spins to confront another knight coming towards her. Regulus had taken a handful to the third camp while she and five others are trying desperately to hold ground here. Uther's sent close to three dozen knights. They're relentless in their attack, and the worst thing is that she knows most of them. She recognizes their movements, their voices, their boyish faces with the bursts of peach growth on their chins.

It's not until the clearing is thick with soldiers and the skirmish is violent in intensity that she distinguishes Merlin through it all. Dressed in a chainmail tunic, he's on the outskirts of the camp, his arm outstretched and his eyes narrowed in concentration. A druid woman, native to this camp and unknown to her, appears behind him. Before Morgana can warn him, before he can sense his attacker, the woman raises her staff and lands a blow across his shoulders.

Merlin falls forward onto his hands and knees, the breath knocked from his lungs. Everyone else forgotten, Morgana sprints toward him. In a flash, she's willing to turn on her own in order to protect the missing piece of her heart. She's so preoccupied by him that she fails to see the other figure running into the fray. The moment she lifts her weapon to parry the druid woman's staff, her sword clashes with another, and she looks up into the face of her foster brother.

His eyes dark, Arthur knocks Merlin's attacker unconscious with the butt of his sword. The woman collapses onto the ground, and Arthur offers his friend a hand. Morgana stares at the two, hardly daring to believe they could have orchestrated such destruction and pain.

His expression hard and unreadable, Arthur gazes back at her before calling to his men, "Hold!"

The knights of Camelot lower their weapons, reluctantly stopping the fight. The druids, surprised and regarding their attackers warily, nevertheless stay their weapons as well. Morgana, brushing back the locks of hair that have fallen loose, looks around. The tents are in ruin, the water basins and other structures smashed to bits, the wooden shards lying amongst the leaves like a discarded puzzle.

How many lives have been destroyed this day?

Gawain approaches Arthur. Quietly he says, "But, sire, your father –"

"I know what the king said," Arthur snaps as he sheathes his sword. Gazing around, he argues, "But we've scared them enough. They won't cause any trouble. Let's leave them to pick up the pieces."

He turns his back and strides angrily away from the encampment. Morgana watches him go, but Merlin won't tear his eyes from her.

Jaw flexing in fury, she turns to him and, her voice dangerously low, says, "I will never forgive you for this."

He calls after her as she sweeps away, but she ignores him as his voice swirls into the wind.

* * *

He comes the next night, appears at the fireside like nothing's wrong. Regulus welcomes him like a brother, and they exchange words of regret and promise. No one here blames Merlin. After all, Merlin's the one who warned them about the attacks.

But she _knows_ him. She knows that he could have stopped them all together if he'd wanted to.

Why didn't he want to?

He squats down in front of her, but she disregards him pointedly, keeping her eyes on the fire. Sliding his hands onto her knees, he leans forward and says quietly, "Morgana."

She shoves his hands off. "Go away, Merlin."

"Please, will you just let me explain?"

She's about to protest once more when Regulus speaks up. "Perhaps you should listen to the boy, Morgana," he says calmly.

As disappointed as she is in him right now, she respects Regulus. She respects his judgment, his opinions. He's taken care of her for close to two years now. He wouldn't steer her wrong.

Without a word, she rises and walks off behind the tents and into the woods. Merlin follows, and once they're out of earshot of the rest of the camp, she rounds on him.

"Understand something, Merlin. You no longer have the right to just show up here whenever you feel like it."

He's quiet, standing before her in scrapes of moonlight. "I needed to explain," he says. "You can at least give me that."

"Why should I, Merlin? Why should I listen to you anymore?"

"Because you're not being fair! Do you think we wanted this to happen? Arthur and I did what we could to keep you out of it, but we can't protect everyone."

"These are people like me, Merlin. People like _you_! Does that no longer matter?"

"It would be a death sentence for Arthur to go against his father! We did the best we could!"

"Are you so cowardly that you will turn against your own?"

"This is not a question of sides, Morgana!"

They've never shouted at each other like this before; she's never seen him so livid. This is what life has made of them, but instead of uselessly railing at the heavens, she does what's in her power, even if all she can do is yell until there's no more breath left in her lungs.

There comes a time when words prove fruitless, when she won't listen to his rational arguments and when he's tired of trying to make himself heard over her shouts. Her frustration dissolves into snatches of incoherency, and when she can no longer make herself understood, she takes to beating at his chest with her fists. Merlin takes the abuse stoically, letting her rain blows upon him until he finally reaches around her and pulls her tight against him. She struggles to get away, but he holds her fast and she has no option but to submit.

Collapsing against him, Morgana refuses to let loose the sobs she feels snaking their way to the surface. Whatever she does, however much pain she feels, she will _not_ cry.

What comes out instead is more of a strangled cough.

Locked in their awkward embrace, she and Merlin sink to their knees.

"Shh," he murmurs, stroking her hair.

She wants to push him away, to reclaim her grief as her own, but her strength has fled and she finds herself sinking into his arms.

Eventually, she regains enough breath to choke out, "I cannot go back. I will die before I go back."

Merlin pulls back to look at her, his eyes clouded with concern. He runs his thumb gently across her cheek. "Don't say that," he pleads. "Please, Morgana, you don't mean that."

"But it's true. This is the kind of person Uther is. He tears apart lives, makes innocent people follow him out of _fear_. How do you expect me to return to a life like that?"

He presses a desperate kiss to her lips. "Fine," he breathes softly. "Stay if you must. I understand." His eyes blazing with emotion, he adds, "But it will not always be like this. When Arthur's on the throne, this will all change. You'll see."

"Arthur follows in his father's footsteps," she argues quietly.

"No," he protests with a shake of his head. "I promise that he doesn't. Trust me, Morgana. The world will be a different place, better, when Arthur is king."

The way he holds so fast to his idealistic worldview, more than his lofty words, draws a tentative smile from her.

"And the persecution will stop?" she queries.

"They will," he assures her, sliding his fingers into her hair and pulling her towards him.

Resting her forehead against his, she murmurs, "Then when Arthur is king, when magic is no longer threatened, I will come home to you."

He swallows. "I will hold you to your word."

"And I to yours."

Merlin brushes a gentle kiss across her lips. "Hold me to it," he breathes. "I promise you, magic will find its place, as will we."


	8. This Moon Will Take Us 'Til Morning

A/N: Heh, I know this has gotten a little roller-coastery, but I promise that an end is in sight! Probably two more chapters, tops. :) Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far.

_

* * *

See, there's a sun in the sky  
And a moon that will take us 'til morning  
When are you gonna stand  
Stop and begin this moment  
Hey, let go  
- "Begin," The Wailin' Jennys_

_

* * *

_

Morgana whirls around and parries a blow from Mordred, their wooden practice swords meeting with a dull clash. He's still small for his age, but he's getting older, stronger, and his will's never been this powerful. This practice session is partly an apology for leaving him behind last week, but it's also because she sees the potential in him.

She's not quite sure if she's up to this task, though. He's a young boy at a crossroads, in need of a teacher to guide him down the right path. There is darkness in him, darkness which can easily corrupt him. But is there not also darkness in her? Perhaps that simply means he is more in need of her, that they were meant to help each other. Regulus seems to think so, at least, and she's become like an older sister to the troubled boy.

His grey eyes flash dangerously as she blocks another blow and strikes at his thigh. He brings his sword up to meet hers with renewed vigor, their weapons locking.

And he thinks he has her.

But he's proud, and he still has much to learn.

Grinning, she reverses their positions in a blink, and Mordred's sword goes flying to the ground.

Just as his sword hits the damp earth with a dull _thud_, a clattering sounds fills the air, and two figures on horseback appear in the trees. Panting, she drops her sword hand to watch their approach, stunned when she recognizes Merlin and Arthur. Merlin's horse, Mercury, is dragging a small cart, a difficult feat over the uneven paths, and Morgana realizes with confusion that the cart is . . . clucking?

Bewilderment etched into her brows, Morgana watches as Mordred strolls over to where the men have stopped near the camp and peers into the cart.

Arthur slides off his horse and explains, "We've come to offer an apology."

Mordred lifts a disdainful eyebrow. "Chickens?" he questions, staring up at the prince.

Morgana stifles the urge to smirk. As much damage as they've caused, as much misery, she can't help but chuckle at their utter cluelessness. A dozen chickens in exchange for that feeling of security they've lost? Only Arthur and Merlin would think that a fair trade-off.

As Mordred rolls his eyes and walks off, Merlin lifts his eyes to her. He shrugs and offers her a sheepish smile, but there's a current of sadness beneath his outward appearance of levity. Neither of them has quite gotten over what happened the previous week.

Before he can make a move or she can begin a conversation, though, Regulus emerges from his tent. "Merlin, my boy," he greets with a handshake and a smile, "it's good to see you again. You know you're always welcome here."

Arthur clears his throat, and Merlin shoots him a look.

Regulus chuckles. "I'm afraid you'll have to earn that same right, sire."

Merlin stifles a laugh at the look on Arthur's face, but the prince ignores him and, gesturing to the cart, says, "Perhaps these will help."

Scrutinizing the offering, the Druid elder asks, "Chickens?"

At least he asks more politely than Mordred.

Arthur clear his throat and elucidates, "Yes, well, we thought food could never be unwelcome. Eggs, meat, clucking . . ."

Merlin rolls his eyes.

"Of course, we're very grateful," Regulus laughs. He opens his arms and gestures to their modest home. "Will you join us for supper then?"

Morgana smiles as the boys get roped into helping prepare supper. The older Druids, though appreciative for the offering, treat them like they treat anyone else, instructing them in the proper way to go about their tasks. The younger ones look at them in awe, hardly daring to believe the Prince of Camelot is in their midst. Morgana sneaks glances at Merlin they go about the preparations, longing to talk to him and clear the air for good, too proud to approach him.

And her heart nearly beats out of her chest when Mordred offers to fetch water from the stream with him. Merlin shoots a brief glance at her before following the boy into the trees.

Arthur sidles up beside her and begins to chop up carrots. "Is it just me," he begins, "or is he . . . a little strange?"

Sighing, Morgana tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and resumes cutting up the vegetables in front of her. "He just needs some guidance, that's all. He doesn't have anyone."

Arthur doesn't say anything, but he doesn't argue either, just lets out a soft grunt that could mean a number of things. "What do you think he and Merlin are talking about?" he asks.

"I don't know. They've always taken pains to avoid each other before."

Frowning at the uneven slices he's managed to slice the carrots into, Arthur places a fist on his hip exasperatedly. "This can't be right. I can't be doing this right."

"For someone who's so good with a sword," Morgana teases with a laugh, "you're not so good at doing anything else useful with a blade."

"Well, can you do it any better? Oh," he intones as he catches sight of the vegetables she's chopped perfectly.

"It's okay. They'll taste just as good no matter what shape they're in."

"True, but can you just, fix them up a bit so everyone won't think I'm useless?" he asks, half-laughingly.

She lets out a chuckle as she redoes his work. They fall into silence for a moment, everyone else bustling around. Clearing her throat, she says quietly, "Thank you."

Arthur shrugs dismissively. "Merlin and I, we didn't have much time to act, and we thought we came up with the best plan that we could. I realize now that we didn't, that we should've found a better way."

"But did you have to go along with it at all, Arthur?"

"What was I supposed to do? I can't disobey my king."

She nods, conceding the point. The few times Arthur had chosen to challenge Uther, it hadn't ended well. Shaking her head, she says, "But Merlin . . ."

"What about him?"

"He didn't have to follow you."

Arthur crosses his arms with a sigh. "He's my servant," he explains simply. "He did."

Of course. It all comes back to what is expected of them, the paths they are forced down.

She glances up to see Merlin and Mordred emerging from the woods, each lugging a bucket of water. As she watches the man she's come to trust more than anyone else, she can't help but wonder what life would be like if they were allowed to simply be, if they could forget all their responsibilities and simply love each other. She would no longer be torn between two worlds. Merlin would no longer be torn between two masters. Perhaps they could at last find peace.

She opens her mouth to complain to Arthur before remembering that she doesn't have to explain it to him; he already knows what it's like to be achingly close to and yet so far away from the one you love.

Instead, she requests, "Tell me of Gwen. I miss her, and haven't heard from her in so long."

Looking down at the ground, Arthur blushes. But he can't hide the smile that springs to his lips.

* * *

Even with just two extra people, supper is a busy affair, as it tends to be. She sits across from Arthur, who patiently answers the questions posed to him by wide-eyed children, and Merlin, who is quieter than normal. Once the food is eaten and the dishes are washed and the kids have charmed Arthur into telling them a tale of his stunning heroism, Morgana steals Merlin away.

They slip into the shadows and through the trees, and she pulls him along towards the stream. When they reach the bank, Merlin gathers her into a loose embrace, touches his lips to hers.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, his breath teasing the loose locks of her hair.

"I know. I've missed you, too," she breathes. "I feel like we haven't gotten much time together lately, even less than we usually do."

He sighs, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I didn't know what else to do. But I should've found another way."

She reaches a hand up to caress his cheek. "No, I understand, Merlin. I know of your devotion to Arthur, and I know he has to obey the king." Curling her fingers into his hair, she whispers, "You cannot serve two masters."

He pulls away suddenly. "What do you mean?"

Inhaling deeply, Morgana strolls along the bank. The water looks so beautiful in the moonlight, the gentle trickle of the brook a balm to her worn-out soul. She sits down on the bank and slips out of her boots, delighting in the feel of the grass against her feet.

"I mean," she begins quietly, "that you have a duty to Arthur. But you also have a place here, with people like us. You cannot serve the king and embrace who you were meant to be. I'm afraid you will lose yourself."

"And what would you have me do?" he asks as he takes a seat beside her.

"Stay with me." Before he can object, she says, "But I know you can't. I know it's unfair to even ask you to split your loyalties."

"Then why mention it?"

"Because . . ." She swallows, shakes her head, searches for the words. "What if this is all we are? What if we never find a way to make this work? What if we spend the rest of our lives looking back on this summer and wondering how it could have been different?" Sliding her fingers through his, she whispers, "Maybe we were never meant to be."

"No," Merlin says firmly, cupping her cheek, "we are the only thing that makes sense in this world, and you can't dismiss that so easily. This is not all we are, Morgana. This is just the beginning. Can't you see that?" She is quiet; he purses his lips. "I know you are frustrated," he continues. "I am, too. But when Arthur is king –"

"'When Arthur is king'," she parrots, breaking away from his touch. "'When Arthur is on the throne.' But when will that be? We cannot wait forever. We cannot continue to put our lives on hold."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a deep breath. "You haven't Seen it then?"

Morgana shakes her head. Though she's learned to better interpret her dreams, her gift is far from perfect. She knows Arthur will be king, she's Seen that much, and Gwen will be at his side. Magic will no longer be banned, but how long will it be before it is truly accepted?

She has more freedom here than she does in the castle, and she's thankful for that, but she sometimes feels just as useless. Besides Mordred, there is no one in need of her help here, and she finds it difficult to pinpoint her purpose. She oftentimes finds herself wondering if she's given up her destiny along with her solitude.

And to what end? She's had to abandon the man she loves.

"You don't understand," he murmurs. "I need to believe that things can change, that we can make a difference."

"I want to believe as much as you do, Merlin, but . . . this is never-ending. And I'm tired. I'm tired of barely getting to be with you, and of biding my time in the woods, and I'm tired of this world in all its injustice."

She's ranting now, ranting because she needs to say it and because he is someone who will listen to it without quite taking it all to heart.

He slides an arm around her waist and leans forward to softly kiss her temple. He pulls her against him, rests his chin on the crown of her head, and breathes, "Then I will stay with you, until magic is restored to Camelot."

Stunned, Morgana extricates herself from his embrace and gazes at him. "Merlin . . ."

"Arthur can take care of himself for a little while," he argues.

"No, he can't."

A smile tugging at his lips, he kisses her. "Tell me you don't feel that," he murmurs huskily. "Tell me you can give that up."

She does feel it. She feels the hope in his kiss, feels the tentative ache of pent-up longing.

She sighs against his lips, knowing she should protest, wanting so much just to fold him up and keep him. He's not staying, she knows. She would have dreamt of something this monumental. But still, for one night, she can pretend.

Sliding her fingers into his hair, she smiles and whispers, "Let's forget the world tonight."

* * *

Morgana, her cheek resting against Merlin's bare chest, smiles softly as she feels the even rhythm of his breathing. There's something about waking up in his arms that she'll never quite get used to. It's the feeling that the world around them freezes in place so they can go on living, so they can go on loving.

Merlin stirs out of sleep as the noise of early risers reaches their ears. He stretches and yawns, and she lifts her head to gaze down at him. There's a sparkle in his eye as he smiles up at her, tangles his fingers into her hair. Her palm against his chest, feeling the rush of his heartbeat beneath her skin, she leans down to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

Their last moment of peace before returning to reality.

* * *

Arthur holds a spoonful of porridge aloft and turns the utensil over, allowing the beige concoction to dribble back into his bowl.

"It doesn't look like much," Morgana smiles, "but it's good for you. I promise."

The three have claimed a place under a tree near the edge of the clearing, away from the common area.

Turning to Merlin, who's devouring his breakfast, she asks curiously, "So what were you and Mordred talking about yesterday?"

"Yeah," Arthur pipes up, suddenly more interested in the conversation than in his food. "Did you two have a nice little chat while fetching water?"

Merlin shrugs. "He just wanted to talk, that's all. Nothing in particular."

"Right," Arthur drawls.

"I'll tell you someday," he smiles at Morgana.

Setting his bowl on the ground, Arthur slaps his knees and gets to his feet. "Well, thanks for breakfast, Morgana, but we really need to be getting back to Camelot."

"Of course," she replies, standing and pulling him into a hug. There are many things she wants to say to him, but her heart is so full that she can't seem to say anything worthwhile. So she kisses him on the cheek and instead says, "Take care of Gwen for me."

He promises with a nod before turning away to ready the horses and leaving her alone with Merlin.

When she turns around, he's there, a sad smile stretched across his lips. Immediately, his arms are around her, and she lets her head sink against his shoulder.

"I don't want to go," he confesses.

"But you have to."

This is the cycle they fall so easily into: frustrated, she begs him to stay; all-too-willing, he agrees; and then in the morning, they both come to their senses, knowing that, before long, the call of duty would grow too loud to ignore. It's easy for Morgana to get caught up in her worry, easy for her to over-think things and begin to question whether the gain is worth the cost. But even when she's at her worst, he's the one who can calm her down. It sometimes takes just a smile, just a look; it sometimes takes an entire evening of coaxing and persuasion.

But he always manages to make her believe.

Standing in his arms right now, breathing him in, she can see their future. She can see them on either side of the King and Queen, providing advice and judgment. She can see them at official feasts, side-by-side, laughing over a joke a visiting royal has just told. She can see them being woken up on winter days by brown-haired children who can't seem to keep their energy to themselves. She can see them taking picnics in the summer, stretching out in the meadow grass, watching those children as they race across the hills.

It's no vision, simply a wish, but it feels as real to her as the grass beneath her boots and the breeze teasing her hair.

Grasping his face between her palms, she presses a deep, desperate kiss to his lips. "I have faith in you," she murmurs.

"I know," he smiles before kissing her softly again.

"Be safe, okay?"

Nodding, Merlin reluctantly breaks away from her to join Arthur, who has already mounted his horse and is waiting across the camp. Morgana watches them forlornly as they trot down the path, smiling sadly when Merlin looks over his shoulder just before they round the bend and disappear into the trees.

She lets out a breath.

As dismayed as she gets, she won't give up hope for a better world, not while he's in her life.


	9. His Vision Borrows Mine

A/N: A thank-you to everyone who's reviewed so far! I apologize for not personally getting back to each review; I've tried to do so for people who review multiple times, but I'm a little wary because someone once said that was creepy, haha. So if you're creeped out by my response to your review, please don't be. I really do appreciate hearing from people. :)

Also, Mnem's _I Love To Serve_ (with a possible title change) is still going on. And let me tell you, it's fabulous (and so, so different from this, haha). I'm sure anyone reading this has checked it out already, but if you haven't, go do so soon!

This chapter was getting a bit long, so I've split it up. The second part should follow this weekend hopefully!

_

* * *

And he said, "Take my hand.  
Live while you can.  
Don't you feel dreams lie right in the  
Palm of your hand?"_  
- "_Ordinary Day," Vanessa Carlton_

_

* * *

_

The sun peeks over the horizon, the thin early morning light stretching into bands of orange and pink. Morgana, knees drawn to her chest and arms resting on her legs, sits patiently in the meadow. This is the day she's been waiting for, the day that everything falls into place and her life can truly begin. Unable to sleep, she's been waiting for him for hours now, keeping a silent vigil through the night.

He finally appears over the crest of the hill, leading her brown-red mare and his own dappled grey by the reins. He's smiling, the brilliance of that grin outshining the sun.

Smiling back at him, she rises and traipses through the calf-high grass to meet him. She wraps her arms around his waist and surrenders to his kiss, delighting in the familiar taste of him.

As if he's afraid to break the hush of the morning, Merlin pulls away to gaze at her silently. As his eyes pierce hers, she can see the question behind them.

She nods; she's ready.

She accepts his help to slide into the saddle. She hasn't ridden Boudicca in nearly four years, but the bond between rider and horse hasn't disappeared. She leans forward to rub Boo's neck, feels that connection reignite and grow when the mare responds with a pleased snort. It seems like just yesterday, she and Merlin had been racing through Camelot's outlying fields, laughter on their lips and stars in their eyes. Suddenly, that seems in sight yet again.

Morgana glances at him as he settles into his saddle, hardly daring to believe that destiny is finally setting them free. Although a piece of her heart will always remain with the people here, she no longer feels like the universe's pawn, no longer feels a slave to her duties. She makes her own destiny now.

* * *

Because it's still early, the day has barely begun as they ride through the fields just outside the city. The farmers, having risen with the sun, are out toiling in the fields, but their work is too consuming for them to take notice of two passing riders. Even as they pass into the town proper, the peasants are just starting their day, and there is no one in the streets to gawp as the Lady Morgana returns to Camelot.

To her surprise and relief, her return isn't heralded or treated as anything out of the ordinary. She's not subjected to a dazzling feast, or a spectacular parade, or any other welcoming display of wealth and grandeur.

Instead, she reclaims her chambers, untouched over the years except for a few thorough cleanings, and simply luxuriates in the feel of a plush mattress and soft pillows beneath her body.

Save for the turnover in power, not much has changed really.

Gwen is exactly like she remembers, only more beautiful, and more kindhearted if that's possible. Arthur is the same as he ever was – rash-headed, strong-hearted, perhaps softened a bit by Gwen's influenced. Gaius is still Gaius – intelligent and kindly. And Merlin . . . Merlin is truer than he ever was, as if the separation between them has only strengthened his resolve.

Hunith's living in the city now, having nothing left of value in Ealdor and nothing left to fear in Camelot. Merlin and Gwen have found her a modest home in the upper town, and she's taken up work as a seamstress.

When she visits Alice and Caleb, she finds Nicholas grown into a strong young boy. He's five now, an older brother to two-year-old Seth, with a second sibling on the way. He doesn't remember her of course. She hadn't expected him to. But he and Seth take to her as if she were an aunt come for a visit.

As she watches them, as she teases Seth and chases Nicholas, a warm, unfamiliar feeling suffuses her.

Maybe this is why she's come back. Not for Arthur, not even for Gwen, but for _this_. She never could have had this with the Druids, living the forests, but now that she's living in the castle again, now that she and Merlin are together again, perhaps this simple kind of life is finally within reach.

* * *

"Morgana," Arthur smiles as she enters his room. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She leans a hip against the wooden table, notices with a smirk his crown hanging over the bedpost. "I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were ready for the coronation tomorrow."

"Of course. You're not going to wear that, are you?"

Chuckling, she looks down at her plain grey dress. She's given up her gowns she used to wear in the castle, given up the trousers she so often wore in the wilderness, in favor of unadorned dresses. "I'll dig something nice out of my wardrobe, but only because you asked so nicely," she promises.

Arthur leans back in his chair with a grin. "So what did you really come here to ask, Morgana?"

She smiles at how easily he can see through her after all these years. Crossing her arms, she says, "Fine. I want Mordred to come live here. I want him you to employ him somehow, perhaps under Merlin, Gaius even."

"Mordred?" he asks with raised brows. "The Druid boy?"

"He's nearly fifteen now. He can be helpful to you."

"Why is this so important to you?"

Morgana sighs. She can't explain the dreams she's had recently, the ones in which Arthur and Mordred lie dead on a battlefield, their armies torn to confusion around them. And through it all, Merlin – grieved, hopeless, broken.

She hasn't even been able to tell Merlin about these nightmares. And Arthur, who has spent so much of his life in fear of magic, how is he to take to heart the things she's seen in dreams?

Instead, she frowns and explains, "He is lost, Arthur, as I once was. I fear . . . I fear what will become of him if there is no one to look after him, to guide him down the proper path."

"And you think I can do that?"

"I think _we_ can. He's a soldier, in need of a king like you, but he is also a warlock, and Merlin and I can help him, if only we had the opportunity."

Arthur sighs, contorting his mouth contemplatively. "All right," he finally says, "I'll discuss it with Merlin."

Smiling softly, she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Arthur."

He shakes his head and waves her off. "Now go pick out a dress. If you show up in that rag, Gwen will turn you out!"

* * *

Her hands resting on the sill of the open window, Morgana breathes in the cool night air and lets her gaze drift out onto the city, ablaze with celebratory bonfires and alive with sounds of merriment and festivity.

This, she decides, this is what Camelot is meant to be. A celebration of life. This is what Arthur inspires in the people. This is what she's returned for.

"Sneaking away from the banquet, I see."

She turns with a smile on her face to see Merlin standing a ways down the corridor, resplendent in his formal jacket and trousers. Taking a breath, she explains, "I've been away for so long, I'd forgotten how stifling that hall can get with so many people. I've just come for some air."

He nods and walks over to her, that lopsided smile she loves so much gracing his lips. "Are you sure you're not out here plotting your escape?" he teases.

Morgana laces her fingers through his with a soft laugh. "It'd be much less conspicuous to plot my escape from the inside, don't you think?"

"Of course," he agrees. Turning his eyes to the town, he lets out a sigh. "I've never seen them so happy."

"Nor I," she murmurs.

"A little while ago, I would have been out there among them, drinking too much ale, singing too loudly, acting like there was no tomorrow."

She glances up at him, surprised at how wistful – sad almost – he sounds. A sneaky smile on her face, she suggests quietly, "You can have that again."

Merlin narrows his eyes at her. "Are you suggesting . . . Morgana!"

"What?" she asks coyly, a sparkle in her eyes.

"We can't just flee the official celebration."

"We _can_," she clarifies. "We just . . . ought not to."

He scrutinizes her, trying hard to keep the grin off his face. Finally, as a raucous chorus of drunken singing reaches their ears, he tugs at his coat and says, "We can't go out in these."

In the end, they opt for cloaks as disguises, deciding it will take too much of their precious time to change into peasant clothing, instead throwing the rough brown cloaks straight over their formal wear.

Hands latched together and laughing, they race through the streets like careless adolescents. The townspeople, so caught up in the celebration, don't notice the newcomers. Morgana takes the opportunity to drag Merlin along to the nearest fire, burning high and bright in the middle of the street. The crowd gathered around it is so thick that they can't get near the flames, but Merlin manages to secure two mugs of ale from a passing vendor. She accepts it gratefully, taking a long, refreshing swig while he looks on amusedly.

The ale is sweet, sliding smoothly down her throat. But she's used to wine, and the stronger alcohol quickly goes to her head.

"This is delicious," she tells Merlin with a grin.

He laughs and pulls her closer, ghosting a kiss over her temple.

She's about to draw his attention to a haphazard foot-joust between two drunken shopkeepers on the side of the lane when a man suddenly rises a head above the crowd and begins to speak. The people, interested in what he's saying, part for him enough for Morgana to see that he's standing on a small crate.

Holding his mug in the air, the man shouts, "He's shown bravery beyond his due, stood up for the people when his father refused to treat us fairly, proven himself to be more than his father's son."

"Aye," someone yells from the throng, "and he saved us from the Questing Beast!"

"And from the Dragon!" comes another voice.

"Exactly my point!" the man on the box says. His voice escalating in emotion and intensity, he continues, "Through his honor, and his unparalleled bravery, he has saved us from threats too numerous to count. He shall return Camelot to its proper glory. Under his rule, we shall know what it is to earn respect as a kingdom. We shall know prosperity. We shall finally know peace!"

With this declaration, the people erupt in an ecstatic cheer.

"Long live King Arthur!" comes a voice.

"Long live King Arthur!" echoes the leader.

Morgana and Merlin, swept up in the atmosphere, raise their glasses along with the rest of the crowd and repeat, "Long live King Arthur!"

To her surprise, no one seems to even recognize them, despite the fact that they're disguised in just cloaks. No one seems to even take notice of them.

She takes a deep breath, breathing in the euphoria surrounding them. Her palm resting on his chest, she looks up and asks, "This is much more exciting than the banquet, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course," he chuckles. "Although I suppose we didn't even need these cloaks. It seems like everyone is too happy or too drunk to care about just two people."

"Yes," she murmurs as she rests her forehead against his.

For so long, the only place she's felt truly at peace is in his arms. But they've had such troubles figuring out where they belong together, navigating their fates in order to find a home. Even back at the castle, she's having a hard time figuring out where she fits in. Arthur's offered her a place as one of his advisers, alongside Merlin, and she's hoping a role like that will fill her need to help others while allowing her to explore her power.

This, though, this feels right – being out among the people, experiencing it through their eyes. There's no separation, no line between peasant and noble, and the best part is that Merlin is right by her side.

"That's exactly what we are," she breathes, "Just two people . . ."

* * *

The celebrations don't end. They go on for days, and even work slows down so the people can celebrate. Just when they seem about to end, Arthur announces his official intentions to make Merlin a freeman and his advisor. The announcement causes a furor among the nobles, especially among the knights, who have come to respect Merlin like a brother.

The servants are busier than ever, cleaning up from the coronation celebrations and preparing for the next feast. Morgana watches them bustle through the hallway, always a new task to complete – a new delivery to make or a new gown to wash or a new floor to sweep.

Strolling through the corridors to clear her mind, she nearly runs straight into Merlin as she rounds a corner.

"Morgana," he smiles, "I was just looking for you."

"Well, you seem to have found me," she replies playfully.

Nodding almost nervously, he takes her by the hand and leads her into an alcove over the looking the courtyard. "How are you?" he asks. "I feel like I haven't seen you much over the past few days."

"I'm fine," she tells him, smiling at his concern. She looks him over, noting that he's still dressed in his usual servant attire, and reaches out to fix his shirt collar, tucked in on itself. "But how are you? Are you ready for tonight?"

"As ready as I'll be," he shrugs. "As long as you're there."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she chuckles. "Now, what will your first act as a freeman be?"

Merlin swallows, looking out onto the courtyard below. When he doesn't answer, Morgana's smile fades. Surely he's not having qualms. He's always been faithful to a fault, and she can't imagine him ever having second thoughts. Besides, he'll still be serving Arthur. With the ban on magic lifting, in fact, he'll be able to serve him better than before.

She places a hand on his forearm, hoping to calm his unvoiced doubts. Turning back to her, that nervous look still in his eye, he says softly, "Marry me."

Morgana's breath catches in her throat.

She's thought about a life with him, but their discrepancy in status has always kept her from envisioning him as her husband. Even when she'd left Camelot, she was still high-born, he still a servant. They could act on their feelings, but they couldn't marry.

_Marriage_.

She's never been in a position to think well of that institution. She's seen what it can do to people, the injustice between man and wife, how women are subjected to the whims of their husbands.

Merlin is a wonderful man, but a husband? He is soon to become a freeman, and Arthur's adviser, and she's seen power go to other men's heads. What if he is no different?

But she stops herself there. She's being ridiculous. Isn't she?

"Merlin . . ." she murmurs.

"Merlin! There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Their gazes snap toward Arthur, who's appeared in the archway of the alcove. Merlin clears his throat and looks chagrined at the interruption, but the newly-crowned king fails to catch his friend's hint.

Instead, he claps Merlin on the shoulder and says, "Come on then. I need to discuss tonight's ceremony with you. And we need to find you something suitable to wear."

Morgana opens her mouth to protest, but Arthur's already dragging him off. He avoids her eyes as he allows Arthur to guide him away. Watching their retreating forms, she runs a hand through her loose hair and lets out a sigh.

Soon. She would have time to answer him soon.


	10. I'm Gonna Stop to Hear Your Voice

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews. I think, two chapters ago, I said there were two chapters left. But uh, I was wrong, haha. I think this is going to end up at 13 chapters, but then again, I've been wrong before. :P

_

* * *

When all of the beauty turns to pain  
When all of the madness falls like rain  
As long as we crash and we collide  
We will be gorgeous, you and I.  
- Idina Menzel_

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* * *

_

"Lady Morgana," Hunith greets with a tentative smile.

Morgana dips her head as she enters the cottage. Her heart palpitating nervously, she fingers the gown in her hands.

"Please," Hunith says, gesturing to a chair, "what can I do for you, milady?"

Morgana takes a seat and unfolds the dress, the green one that Merlin likes so much, the one he always says brings out her eyes. "I'd like to look nice for the banquet tonight, but I'm afraid I've torn off a button. I was hoping you'd be able to help."

Hunith looks at her with a smile that lets her know exactly how much she's buying the story. After all, it's one button. Surely there's someone within the castle capable of reattaching a button.

"Of course, my dear. It should only take a few minutes if you don't object to waiting."

"Not at all."

Morgana watches Hunith in silence for a few moments, watches her slender hands thread the needle quickly and able. She has Merlin's long fingers, his dark knuckles. And she has his eyes, those kind blue eyes that never quite reveal all their secrets, but promise to keep yours just the same.

After a moment passes, Morgana asks, "How do you find Camelot?"

"I like it," the older woman replies gently. "The work is not so varied, the air not so clean, but I get to see Merlin more often than before."

"I'm sure he's a comfort to you."

"He is," Hunith murmurs, pulling the thread through. Cautiously, she glances up and adds, "To you as well, I think."

Morgana drops her eyes to the ground. "He is a comfort to everyone," she protests quietly.

"But after spending so long away, it must help to have someone like my son to return to."

She doesn't quite know what Hunith is trying to tell her, but then again, she's not sure what Merlin has told his mother about her either. Perhaps Hunith doesn't know about her magic.

"I won't hurt him," she promises softly.

To her surprise, Hunith smiles. "Milady, flour is of little value without the yeast that makes it rise," she says. Still sewing, she lifts her eyes to gaze at Morgana. "Sometimes two things are better together than they ever could be apart."

There's something about Hunith's sincerity, that same quality that makes her open up to Merlin, and Morgana finds herself saying, "He asked me to marry him. Did you know he was going to ask me?"

"He told me of his intentions, but I didn't know that he had already done so."

"It was only this morning."

"And what did you answer?" Hunith prompts kindly, tying off the thread.

"I haven't yet had the chance to answer."

"But you mean to accept him?"

Morgana is quiet, searching for a way to articulate her swirling thoughts.

Hunith, taking pity on her for her speechlessness, she supposes, presses the dress back into her hands and says, "Here you are, milady. Good as new, I should think." Her voice soft, almost motherly, she presses, "Now, what are you so afraid of?"

"Marriage," Morgana confesses, a crease in her brow. "I'm afraid that once we get married, we'll become exactly like every other marriage that came before us. I'm afraid of . . . giving up my freedom in order to obey my husband."

Hunith reaches out to lift her chin. "Not every man strives to dominate his wife. Do you believe I've raised my son to be such a husband?"

"Of course not," Morgana says quickly. "But that's the only thing I've seen. How can we be any different when we've been given no good examples?"

Hunith smiles. "You can choose to be different."

Morgana takes a deep breath, calming herself down. Merlin always talks about destiny, but what about _choice_? Maybe they are two sides of one coin after all.

Standing, she smiles gratefully. She takes a deep breath and says, "Thank you, Hunith. You've greatly eased my mind."

"You're quite welcome, milady," Hunith replies with a slight bow of her head. A sparkle in her eye, she adds quietly, "When you feel yourself doubting, remember, love is the greatest of God's gifts."

* * *

"You've been avoiding me all evening," comes a soft, accusing voice.

Morgana spins to face her lover, his face aglow in the low candlelight, the formal clothes Arthur's ordered for him hugging his lanky form.

"No, I haven't," she protests quietly.

She's a fair enough liar when she needs to be, but never when she's lying to him.

Merlin's crooked smile is a gentle, indirect accusation. "Do you not like being seen in public with me anymore?" he teases.

As the guest of honor, he should be enjoying this night, basking in the attention or at least conversing with as many people as he can. But instead he's sought her out.

"Well," she smiles, "when Arthur and Gwen dress you in such fine clothing, it makes me look so plain in comparison."

"What are you talking about? You are the most gorgeous woman here."

And she can see in his eyes that he means it. Suddenly, her heart is racing as it did in their first days together, when he'd compliment her and she would try futilely to hide the blush that would rise to her cheeks, try to hide her feelings from the world.

"You have many admirers yourself tonight," she tells him.

He follows her gaze as she looks around the room, and they both can see the young women ogling him openly. Before, he would get not-always-unwelcome attention from the kitchen girls and other girls on the serving staff. They'd smile at him, and he would blush in that awkward, disarming way he has. Now, though, the women are free women, even high-born.

He swallows nervously and turns back to her, a pleading look on his face.

On any other night, she'd gather him up and shuffle him away from their false airs, not throw him to the wolves. But tonight . . . tonight she's still reeling from his proposal and attempting to reorient herself in a world that's changed so much, and yet hasn't changed at all.

Softly, she says, "You shouldn't keep them waiting."

Merlin nods, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. It's just like him to not press her, to not push for an answer or even an explanation.

Instead, he offers a slight smile and says, "Of course not. Good evening, Lady Morgana."

She watches him walk off towards Arthur and Gawain before she snags a goblet of wine from a passing servant and gulps it down.

* * *

Morgana stares down at Merlin, admiring the moonlight as it falls onto his already-pale skin, his dark hair. Gently, she traces a finger along his jaw.

"Morgana," he groans, the hint of a smile on his lips. "It's not even morning yet."

"How do you know?" she accuses in a whisper. "Your eyes are closed."

He nestles into her neck with a low grumble. "Because I _know_. My body hasn't had enough sleep yet," he chuckles.

Her fingers dancing lightly over the furrows in his brow, Morgana has to concede that point. He works too hard. Even now, it's as if he's proving something to the kingdom, and he works even harder than he used to. Of course he needs his rest.

But how can _she_ sleep when there's so much on her mind?

Settling back against the pillows, she finds a comfortable spot against him and asks quietly, "Why do you want to marry me?"

Merlin picks his head up to look at her. "Because I love you," he tells her, as if it's that simple.

With a sigh, she strokes his hair back from his forehead. "But we've loved each other this long, lasted this long, without marriage. So why now?"

"Because you're back now. Because I've waited for you. Because nothing seems to make much sense without you."

"People in Camelot marry for power, or money, never for love."

He flips onto his back and, an arm beneath his head, stares at the fabric comprising the top of the canopy. "That is not how it is in Ealdor. Life is hard. Sometimes all two people have is each other."

She can tell just by his voice that she's upset him. A delicate frown gracing her lips, Morgana slides over him so he can't avoid her eyes. Her wavy hair falls against his chest, blocking the moonlight.

"I'm scared," she tells him honestly.

Concern in his deep blue eyes, he reaches a hand up to caress her cheek and asks, "Why?"

"Will you love me as you always have?"

"How could you ask such a thing?"

"And when we disagree before Arthur, you will not undermine me? You will not claim superiority simply because you are my husband?"

To her surprise, he lets out a soft laugh. "Is that what this is about?" he asks. "Morgana . . ." When he sees the fear in her gaze, he leans up to press a gentle, reassuring kiss to her lips. "I don't wish to _own_ you. I want to marry you because I can't imagine myself without you. And I want the life that marriage can bring."

"Children?" she asks with raised brows.

He nods. "But only if you do, too."

She falls back against the pillows and leans into him, smiling against his collarbone. "I do," she murmurs.

She's never confessed that to anyone before. She's always been strong, confident Morgana, never in need of a helping hand, never in possession of a motherly bone in her body. She's been charitable for sure, and like an older sister to Mordred, but no one would ever accuse her of having motherly desires.

But she feels safe with Merlin, and she can tell him what she can't tell others.

He kisses her forehead. "I don't want your power, Morgana," he comforts her. "Or your influence, or your status. I just want you. I want us."

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I know you; I know you're not like other men."

"As long as you promise me that you're not after me for my good looks," he laughs.

She smacks him lightly with a pillow. "I don't know if I can marry a man who's vainer than I," she teases.

"Luckily, I need my beauty sleep, so you won't have to put up with my chatter anymore tonight."

Morgana smiles and turns onto her side, allowing him to curl against her. He drapes an arm across her waist, holding her gently, and presses a soft kiss to her neck.

"'Night, my lady," he murmurs sleepily.

"Good night," she breathes, succumbing to the warmth she feels in his arms, finally succumbing to sleep.

* * *

Their marriage is a test, meant to gauge how the people would react to a union between a member of the royal household and a former servant. Morgana has fallen off the people's radar since she left, but Merlin has been in their hearts. They care about him, and they wouldn't see him married to someone who didn't care for him.

They're accepted together, which is good news to Arthur and Gwen, for more reasons than one.

If Morgana had it her way, the ceremony would be small, intimate, private. Exactly like their relationship. They're not meant for public affairs or banquet halls or grand celebrations. They haunt each other in abandoned corridors, seek each other out in empty chambers, steal moments in secluded corners.

But when the banns are read, the response from the townspeople is so buoyant that they have no choice but to open the ceremony to the public. Even so, no one can anticipate the crowd. As they sit down to the feast, Morgana realizes with a quiet smile that the streets are as jubilant, though not quite as raucous, as they were following Arthur's coronation ceremony.

He's always been the invisible hero, the one who hides his abilities and stays in the background to bide his time, always working from the shadows. She's struck by just how much she's missed during her time with the Druids, just how much he's grown into his destiny. She slides her hand into his, smiling when he looks to her and squeezes her fingers, and she realizes that she's part of that destiny now.

* * *

Clad in only a nightgown, Morgana shivers involuntary as she sits at the edge of the bed. The mid-autumn night is cool, and even with the fire blazing in the hearth, there's a chill hanging in the air.

She gasps softly as another shiver runs through her. She's nervous, she realizes. Which is silly. This is no different than any other night.

Except for the band on her finger.

Contemplatively, she twists the ring around her finger and takes a deep breath. There's no reason to be nervous. She's never felt safer with anyone than she does with Merlin, and she will feel that comfort tonight. But the minutes seem to drag on as she waits. She watches the flames crackle, watches the embers float upward into the chimney, all the while trying to forget how slowly the time passes.

The fire jumps as the door opens and he shuffles into the room. The chill disperses, a tingling warmth suffusing her. He's shed his jacket, his tunic's untucked, and his hair is slightly tousled, but even after the feast he looks relatively put-together.

And calm.

Smiling softly, he sits down next to her and intertwines their fingers. His ring presses into her palm, the metal cool against her skin, sending a reassuring prickle through her veins and straight to her heart. He's not expected to wear a ring, and no one would have thought twice if only she wore one.

But his ring is a promise, a vow that she's not simply property, that this is more than just a transaction of capital and power. It's a love-match, and that band around his finger means his heart is hers.

"Sorry," he breathes. Chuckling softly, he explains, "I got cornered by Gwen and Gaius and Arthur in turn."

"What did they want?" she asks with a smile.

"To give me advice," he grins. "I don't think anyone's realized that I've been staying in your rooms since you got back."

She leans into him, sliding an arm around his waist. "They had to have known, right?"

Merlin shrugs. "But they told me to treat you well, with respect. Arthur even threatened me slightly." He slides a hand to her cheek, brushes his thumb along her cheekbone. His expression is serious when he says, "Morgana, I don't want to break you."

She presses a kiss to his lips and murmurs, "Merlin, you've shown me what it is to know myself, to find myself in another person. We're setting off on this _together_, and there's no one I'd rather have by my side. . . . Because I love you, Merlin."

He breaks into a smile, his eyes shining with pure bliss. Laughing quietly, Morgana pulls him down for another kiss.

No more needs to be said. The self-doubt that so often plagues her disappears when he's there. She's been so guarded, and she would have fought back against any other man. But Merlin's opened up a side of her she hadn't known existed, his goodness pulling her back from the darkness when she teeters on the edge. Any other man would have taken a glance at the shields protecting her heart and would have retreated in favor of an easier conquest. Merlin, though, with his quiet persistence, his unending patience, is the foundation beneath a fortress, silently supporting her until the end.

No, he could never break her. With his care and compassion, she's no longer fragile. This marriage won't break her either, will simply make them stronger.

In fact, the only thing he's broken are her defenses, but, as she kisses her new husband and her heart spills over with love, she finds that she doesn't mind in the least.


	11. I'll Wait for You to Come Down

A/N: Again, I've decided to split this chapter up for a few reasons. It was getting freaking long. And I have midterms this week, and probably won't finish the rest of the chapter until this weekend, so I didn't want to make you wait, lol. There's kind of a natural stopping point, so I think it works. :)

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* * *

Well, I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with pride.  
- "I Go to the Barn," Band of Horses_

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* * *

_

Morgana slowly paces the length of the hall, watching Arthur, Merlin, and the other advisers out of the corner of her eye. They've been shut up in this room all morning, searching for answers in a pile of maps and books. She's dying to get outside, to go ride out into the town and simply _talk_ to the people. They're bound to have a better idea of where this plague has originated than any book.

Arthur's slumped in a chair, his fist against his mouth as he stares at the floor in thought. Merlin's at the window, leaning against the frame with his back to the company as Gawain, Balin, and the rest of the knights study the maps and papers laid out across the table.

A tense silence hangs heavy in the air. The illness spreading through the kingdom is unlike anything they've seen. The city has been dealing with the influx of sick people from the provinces for days now, but even Merlin's stumped, and they've failed to come up with either the sickness's origin or a way of stopping its spread.

The group's attention shifts towards the door as it opens and Gaius walks through. Carrying a tome, he walks across the hall and deposits the book on the table with a _thud_.

"The symptoms are getting worse," he tells them as he flips through the leaves.

Morgana runs a hand over her eyes. She doesn't want to be hearing more bad news, not when she can't do anything about it.

"But the good news," Gaius continues soberly, "is that I've seen this sickness before, years ago."

Arthur and his knights look up.

Merlin, suddenly alert, steps next to his old teacher. "What is it? Can you cure it? Where is it coming from? How can we help?"

Morgana smiles slightly as the noble physician holds a hand up, effectively cutting off Merlin's spew of words.

"One thing at a time, my boy."

Merlin drops his head, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry."

Arthur, resting his hands on the table, asks, "But he's right. We need to know what this means. If you've seen it before, that means it can be cured. Tell us how we can stop this."

A crease appears in Gaius's forehead. "That's the difficulty. Last time, this plague was the work of a sorceress in Cantia."

"Cantia's nearly three days away on horseback," Arthur frowns.

"And there's no guarantee it's the same sorceress this time," interjects Morgana.

"Well, that is the information I have. Beyond that, I know no more than you," Gaius says.

Merlin scratches at his ear while the knights cross their arms and scowl in bewilderment.

Finally, Arthur declares, "We have to risk it."

"But sire," begins Gawain, but he closes his mouth at a glare from his king.

Arthur stands and says, "Merlin, Balin, and I will take some men, go to Cantia to find this sorceress. The rest of you will help Gaius and Mordred look after the sick."

Morgana twists her lips broodingly. "And what if this is a trap?" she asks. "What if we're meant to believe all this in order to lure you out of the castle?"

"You mean, to attack Camelot in Arthur's absence?" Merlin asks.

She nods, and all eyes return to Arthur.

"Gawain will head the defense of the city while I'm gone."

"And what about me? What shall I do while you are off hunting sorceresses?" Morgana asks.

"You will rest. And stay away from anyone who is infected," he emphasizes.

Morgana rolls her eyes. Men. Ever since she found out that she was with child, the men have been tiptoeing around her, like she's a piece of glass that will shatter if they speak too loudly, or walk too quickly. But honestly, she isn't far enough along for anyone to be able to tell, physically, that she's carrying. If she spends the next seven months like this, coddled and not allowed to participate in anything for fear of breaking, she may just go mad.

Merlin sends her a smile from across the table, and she calms a bit.

"Surely there's something I can _do_, Arthur."

"Why can't she help Gawain?" Merlin suggests. "She isn't an invalid, you know."

Arthur, shooting Gaius a look as the physician stifles a chuckle, says, "I know that. But I just want you to _be careful_, Morgana. There's no sense putting you in undue danger."

"Well, thank you, Arthur, but I've always been able to take care of myself."

Arthur shakes his head, a smirk on his lips. "Just, don't cause any trouble while we're gone, okay?"

* * *

Mordred intercepts her as soon as she crosses the threshold into the hall that he and Gaius have repurposed into an infirmary.

"I'm sorry, Morgana," he says. "You can't be here. King's orders."

Morgana narrows her eyes at him. "Mordred," she pleads. "You can't be serious."

He's sixteen now, growing into a man. After living in the castle for a year, under Gaius's apprenticeship, he's learned to check his temper and to control his childish outbursts. But one thing she thought would never waver was his loyalty to her.

He shakes his head, a smile on his youthful face. "It's too risky. Arthur would kill me if you caught this illness. Not to mention what Merlin would do to me."

Frowning, she crosses her arms and rests her back against the doorway. "So I am to be of no use? Again?"

She's back to being twenty-one again, feeling useless when Arthur and Merlin leave her out of the loop, or when Uther excludes her from matters of state.

"We could use supplies," he suggests.

"Of course," she nods, suddenly filled with purpose. "Right away."

Obediently, her mind already focused on her task, she turns away.

"Morgana, wait."

She stops and looks back at him. "What is it?"

"Perhaps there's one more thing you can do."

"Anything."

He swallows, shifting nervously from one leg to the other. Finally, he says, "I want to go to Cantia."

Morgana scrutinizes him. She's taught him what she knows, but he needs more than that, much more if he's going to live up to his potential . . . if she's going to stop her dreams from coming true.

She still has nightmares of him, but they've changed. They're no longer of Mordred and Arthur on a bloody battlefield. They're dreams of darkness, overwhelming feelings of inexplicable sorrow. Mordred will leave, she knows now. He will abandon them, and she will be left with only regret.

"Mordred," she begins quietly, "that's Arthur's decision."

"But you have Merlin's ear, and the king listens to Merlin."

"Maybe you should ask yourself," she suggests gently.

She knows of Mordred and Merlin's tense relationship, and knows that Arthur treats him like he treats any other servant, but if he wants this so much, he's old enough to ask for it himself. Isn't she supposed to be teaching him his way through the world?

"I know," he concedes with a frown. "But you have more influence with both of them. They won't listen to me. I'm too young."

A flash of anger briefly shows in his steel-grey eyes, and for a moment she can see the petulant adolescent he's trying desperately to grow out of.

But hadn't she felt like that once? Felt undervalued? Felt like she would trade all her possessions just for one person who would listen to her? In fact, the feeling isn't so distant as she would like, as this mysterious plague is proving.

Morgana sighs. "I'll talk to Merlin. But I can't promise anything."

Mordred breaks out into a smile, and the sight sends a pang through her heart. He doesn't smile nearly as often as he should. "Thank you," he says.

"You better get back in there," she tells him, gesturing to the infirmary. "Gaius needs you."

He gives her a nod before disappearing into the hall, and she watches him go, wondering how exactly she's going to navigate these tempestuous waters.

* * *

Morgana sits up in bed, a book open across her knees, her hair falling loosely about her shoulders. She has too much on her mind to really concentrate on what she's reading, but at least she doesn't have to try too hard to make conversation.

Merlin, though, is a natural talker.

"I hope she looks like you," he says, his voice slightly muffled as he pulls his tunic over his head.

"What?" she asks absently, glancing up at him.

He smiles. "The baby. I hope she looks like you."

Seeing the hope in his eyes, the joy on his face, Morgana can't help but return his smile. "How do you know it's going to be a girl?"

"Just a feeling," he shrugs before tugging off his trousers and changing into sleepwear.

Closing the book and setting it aside, she asks, "And what if we have a son, the spitting image of his father?"

Merlin, laughing, crawls onto the bed and snakes his arms around her waist. "Then I only pray he does not get my ears."

She chuckles and runs a hand through his hair before her smile fades.

"Hey," he murmurs, "is something on your mind?"

Morgana leans her head back with a sigh. "Mordred wants to go with you to Cantia."

He takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. Staring up at the ceiling, he replies, "Gaius needs his help here. Why does he want to come anyway?"

"I think he feels . . . like he can contribute more than we let him."

Merlin raises an eyebrow at her. She's never really understood the restrained animosity between these two, but she respects that they keep their distance from one another.

Irritated, she rolls her eyes. "Fine, Merlin, if you want to refuse his help, that's your decision. But he can be of use; I know he can."

"Why do you defend him so vehemently?"

"Why are you so determined to dismiss him?"

He runs a hand over his eyes. A frown etched onto his face, he explains, "Because Kilgarrah once told me . . . bad things about him."

"What are you talking about? What sort of things?"

The wariness in his eyes gives her pause, reminds her of what she felt when she'd first had dreams of Arthur and Mordred. Those dreams have changed though. Surely that means she's helped to change the course of events. Then she remembers the darkness, the sorrow. What if the future she's creating isn't necessarily better?

Still, she has to _try_.

"Just, he might be dangerous," he says.

"Isn't that all the more reason to take him in?" she pleads. "Merlin, he needs people like us, people like him who can understand his powers, who can help him grow." She takes a breath before softly adding, "Maybe we can save him from his fate."

"I thought that's why Arthur apprenticed him to Gaius. He's supposed to help him explore his powers, supposed to show him what it's like to live in the real world, not in the forest."

"Gaius stopped doing magic long ago. Maybe it's not enough."

Lips pursed, Merlin turns his head to look up at her. "What are you saying?" he asks.

What _is_ she saying? All she's wanted to do is help Mordred find his place. But her powers lying in Seeing, and she's taught him as much as she can. He needs a true mentor. Even though Arthur's lifted the ban on magic, there's hardly been an influx of sorcerers into the city.

"What about you?" she asks.

"What about me?"

"You could teach him." Merlin sits up in alarm, but before he can reply, she continues, "Think of the influence you would have on him. If anyone can stop him from becoming what we fear he will become, it's you."

"I have responsibilities already. I don't know if I can add teaching an unruly adolescent to them."

She sighs. She knows how hard he works already, but he sacrifices so much for destiny. Why can he not see that this is the right choice?

Quietly, she slides down under the covers and turns on her side. Almost immediately, she feels his arm about her waist and his chin on her shoulder.

"I'll think about it, okay?" he offers softly.

"Fine," she says as she leans over to snuff the candle.

Darkness descends, but Merlin's never been one to go to sleep angry.

With a sigh, he says, "I can't think about it just now. I can barely think of anything but this plague."

She closes her eyes to shut out her thoughts. She doesn't want to think about Cantia, about what he and Arthur have to do there, about why they must do it.

He presses a soft kiss to her jaw before returning to his side of the bed. "When I get back," he murmurs. "We'll deal with Mordred when I get back."

* * *

She wakes with a start, breathing heavily from her nightmare.

The images are clouded, but the feeling lingers, that feeling of complete and utter loss. She remembers darkness, and sickness, and devastation.

And through it all, Merlin.

* * *

Morgana takes a deep, shaky breath.

This isn't the way it's supposed to be. They're supposed to be in this together, setting off on adventures together, saving the kingdom together. It doesn't matter what it is. What matters is that they're supposed to be _together_.

But now Merlin stands beside the ever-faithful Mercury, his saddle-bag packed and determination on his face.

Her arms crossed over her abdomen, Morgana glances over at Arthur and Gwen. Now that they're married, they've no need to hide their affection, and Arthur pulls his wife into a tender embrace. Even Balin and his sweetheart are exchanging whispered words. She slips a handkerchief into the brave knight's hand before leaning up on tiptoes for a stolen kiss, and even Morgana can see the worry in Balin's eyes.

But she and Merlin, while passionate, are not prone to being effusive in public. She would much rather have said her goodbye in their chambers, if only he hadn't already been gone when she'd awakened. Besides, this is expected of them. Rumors would start to circulate if Merlin were starting off on a dangerous mission and she were not there to see him off.

"I'm sorry," she begins quietly.

He offers her a small smile and replies, "Let's forget about that." He takes her hand tenderly in his own, fiddles gently with their intertwined fingers.

"I know you do what you think is best, but promise me to take care of Arthur. Promise me . . ." She pauses to take a breath and swallow down the lump that's rising in her throat.

He's an idiot sometimes, a heroic idiot who takes stupid chances that very nearly get him killed. But nothing she can ever say will convince him to stop taking those chances. Which is part of the reason she loves him so damned much.

With an irritated sigh, she says, "Promise me to take care of yourself."

They're dancing around each other, avoiding gazes and refusing to say what they really feel. She doesn't want to bring up her dream from last night, doesn't want to plant thoughts in his head.

"I will," he responds, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. "Because you're my life now. Both of you." Smiling affectionately, he places his free hand on her stomach. "I will come back, Morgana. I promise."

"You better, or I will . . . pore through your books so I can find you when I die. You will never escape me."

Merlin laughs and pulls her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "Promise me one thing, though," he requests.

"What is it?"

"Be careful, okay? This will be a lot easier if I don't also have to worry about what kind of trouble you're getting yourself into."

She pulls back to glare at him. "Why do you and Arthur always assume that I'll get into trouble? I'm not a child, you know."

"I know that," he replies calmly. "But you do have a tendency to . . . forget about yourself whenever you feel passionately about something. And now that we have a child to consider, I hope you will remember to put yourself first."

Frowning, refusing to admit that he's actually right, she simply nods.

He kisses her hand. "Remember, I love you."

She presses a kiss to his lips and whispers, "Come back to me."


	12. Now I Know the Madness Lives On

A/N: Here's part two! As usual, thanks for the reviews. :)

I'm thinking that someone needs to start a Hunith Appreciation Society, or some sort of petition that ensures that she'll come back for season three. Because she's way too awesome to just hang out in Ealdor while Merlin and gang have adventures in Camelot, lol. You can probably tell how awesome I think she is from this chapter!

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* * *

It's been all too easy to cross my arms and roll my eyes.  
The thought of dropping all my arms leaves me terrified.  
And now I see the madness in me is brought out in the presence in you.  
- "Madness," Alanis Morissette_

_

* * *

_

The dream comes again.

Only this time, there's no warm body to curl into when she wakes, frightened, in the dead of night. There's no one to calm her fears or whisper soothing words. There is only her, and the moonlight, and the terrifying images she cannot shake from her mind.

* * *

Morgana likes the ramparts because they offer privacy, because they remind her of stolen moments.

"Milady," Gawain greets as he climbs up the final step and walks over to her. "Is everything all right? Have you eaten dinner yet?"

She turns to look at the knight, takes in his dark hair, his deep hazel eyes, his powerful build. He is a good friend, loyal to a fault, and she, among others, is lucky to have someone like him. But he rarely approaches her alone like this.

"Who put you up to this?" she asks with a slight smirk. "Be truthful. Was it Gwen? Gaius?"

Gawain lets out a laugh and turns his eyes toward the city. "I'm here of my own accord. Excuse me for saying, but you've been so worn out over the past two days. I thought you could use a friendly ear."

She nods, placing her hands on the stone wall, and asks, "What do you know about Seeing?"

Shaking his head sheepishly, he chuckles and replies, "Nothing much. I fight with a sword; you and Merlin are the ones who fight with magic."

"But you believe that if something is foretold, it has to come true?"

"Fate is a tricky mistress," he says grimly. "Sometimes a man is in charge of his own, but sometimes, if he works too hard to change what Fate has allotted him, he risks bringing that very destiny into being."

"Does it always come down to Fate? Can we not _choose_ who we become?"

She's getting in one of her moods now, angry at the world with very little she can do about it. And the knight doesn't quite know what to do. Merlin is always the one to calm her down when she gets like this.

Gawain stands up straight, suddenly the paragon of knightly virtue. "They will return, milady, and triumphant at that. I would stake my life on it."

* * *

Morgana tries to ignore the exhaustion in her bones as she and Gwen trudge baskets of fresh linen across the castle, Harry walking behind them with a basket that nearly topples him.

There have been so many who have fallen ill that they've had to expand the infirmary. So many have been from outside of Camelot that they've set up another hall, on the opposite side of the castle, for the families of the sick. Hopefully the distance will decrease the risk of the infection spreading, but providing care for two groups in two different places is proving to be more wearying than anyone had anticipated.

As they round a corner, Morgana catches sight of a familiar face.

"Caleb!"

The shy farmer looks up in surprise before walking across the corridor to meet her. He carries a fussy, three-year-old Seth in his arms, while a six-year-old Nicholas plods along by his feet.

"Milady, My Queen," he greets, inclining his head to each of them in turn.

The women dismiss with the pleasantries as best they can while carrying laundry baskets.

"Caleb, what are you doing here?" Morgana asks.

"It's Alice, milady. Rose, too."

* * *

Seth turns out to be much more agreeable when he has some food in his stomach. Both of the boys are settled down on a low cot for a nap while Gwen makes Caleb eat a plate of chicken and beans. He eats reluctantly, too worried about his wife and baby girl to have a head for much else.

"They're getting the best care we can offer," Gwen assures him with a kind smile before walking over to join Morgana.

Sitting on the stone floor by the boys' cot, Morgana feels as if the fatigue is weighing her down. Still, she finds strength to brush Nicholas's hair away from his brow. They're so young, so innocent. They don't deserve to be subjected to such suffering.

Gwen places a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you should eat something, too, Morgana, even get some rest. I don't think you've slept in the past two days."

Offering her friend a grateful smile, Morgana says wearily, "I'm too afraid to sleep."

"The dreams again?" Gwen asks as she sinks down beside her.

Morgana nods.

"You can't keep going like this, you know," Gwen chastises gently. "You're going to work yourself to death, and in the meantime, you're going to drive everyone crazy with worry."

"I'll rest when you rest," Morgana says, a tired spark of playfulness in her voice, because, for all Gwen's censuring, she's just as guilty.

Gwen lets out a weary chuckle and tilts her head to stare at the ceiling. "Fine, then. Have it on your conscience when Merlin kills me for letting you drive yourself to exhaustion."

* * *

"Lady Morgana."

Morgana feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her back to consciousness. Lifting her head, she peers blearily up at the figure standing before her.

"Hunith?" she queries groggily.

"Most everyone's asleep, but I can't let you stay like this," Hunith says gently, helping her to her feet.

As she stands, Morgana can see the situation she was in, and she can feel her lower back protesting against what she's just done to it. Sitting on the cold hard floor, she's fallen asleep with her arms on a cot and her head in her arms. There's a little girl in the bed, sleeping peacefully and oblivious to her royal guest. She's no more than four, her golden curls spread out on the pillow like a halo.

"What happened?" she asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Hunith places an arm around her waist and leads her out of the infirmary. "You promised me you weren't tired and said you were going to check on Nessa. The next thing I knew, I found you asleep next to her cot," the older woman explains. "I bet you haven't had supper yet either."

Morgana, feeling a strange sort of daughterly comfort in Hunith's presence, shakes her head. She can't even remember the last time she had a proper meal, and not just bread or cheese on the way as she was delivering supplies or news. But Hunith doesn't need to know _that_ much.

"Well," Hunith says as they ascend the stairs to the rooms she and Merlin share, "then I don't think you'll mind that I took the liberty of having some soup sent up to your chambers."

Morgana wants to reply, but she can already smell the soup, and the rumbling of her stomach tells her just how long she's ignored the advice of that particular organ.

When they reach her chambers, Hunith sits her down at the table. Now that food is in front of her, she doesn't need much inducement to eat. She's absolutely ravenous. The soup warms her from the inside, and for a moment, she can pretend there's no darkness in her dreams.

"You can't do this to yourself," Hunith reprimands gently. "I know you worry for him, but it doesn't follow that you must neglect yourself, especially when you've a child on the way." With a smile, she adds, "And since it's my grandchild you're carrying, I think you'll permit me this one motherly moment?"

"Of course," Morgana nods, smiling sleepily as she takes another spoonful of soup. "You are always a great comfort."

"Then perhaps you can confide in me."

Morgana takes a deep breath, staring at her bowl of soup. "It's just, these dreams, awful dreams. I don't even know what they're about, but I know Merlin is in danger. I should have warned him before he left. I don't know why I didn't."

"This isn't your fault. There will be regrets, and there will be times when all you want to do is give up. But you must keep on, for your child, for your husband, for the world you are creating."

Morgana smiles as she finishes the last of her soup, feeling a weight lift from her. She loves Merlin's mother. She can imagine what a task it was to raise a boy like Merlin, and still Hunith is a font of patience and wisdom. Morgana prays to be like her when she becomes a mother, and she's glad that Hunith will be in this child's life.

Hunith places a hand on her shoulder. "You must rest now," she says, pulling her gently to her feet and leading her over to the bed.

She doesn't bother with a nightgown, simply crawls under the sheets in her tunic and trousers. Hunith tucks her in gently and leans down to press a matronly kiss to her forehead. When she turns to leave, Morgana calls her back.

What does she want to say? _Merlin and I love you. We're lucky to have you_. But instead, she just says, "Thank you," and it's enough.

* * *

On the fourth day, things change. In the middle of the day, the patients begin to recover. Even the ones who were near death show significant improvement. Gaius doesn't understand, but by the end of the day, all those who had fallen ill and hadn't yet died have completely and mysteriously recovered.

Morgana would be happier if there weren't a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach, telling her that there is more to this than meets the eye.

* * *

Seven days.

Seven days before Arthur, Merlin, and Balin return; seven days that she agonizes over their safety.

Morgana, Gwen, Hunith, and Gaius rush into the courtyard as soon as they hear the clatter of horse hooves. Arthur's already dismounting from his horse, his mouth set into a grim line. And there's Balin. And even Mercury.

But Merlin . . .

Morgana looks around desperately.

"Morgana," Arthur begins quietly, in that tone he takes on whenever he tries to calm her down, or break bad news.

"Where is he?" she demands.

And that's when she spots the cart that Mercury is pulling. Hurrying over, she pauses, a hand over her heart, when she sees Merlin lying there, blankets pulled over his unconscious body. She's nearly hyperventilating, and there are a thousand thoughts rushing through her mind, but the only one she's listening to is the one telling her to get close to him. He needs her.

Just as she's about to clamber onto the cart, Arthur stops her, hugging her to him.

"Morgana," he murmurs, "calm down. He needs your strength right now."

Morgana watches over his shoulder as Gaius, taking quick stock of the situation, motions Balin and a few of the returned knights over. "Take him up to my study. Gently, now," he orders. The physician turns to the king. "How did this happen, sire?"

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but Morgana pulls away and beats at his shoulder. "It shouldn't have happened at all. He is your _friend_, Arthur. You should have been looking after him."

And she storms away, following the knights into the castle, before the stunned Arthur can reply.

* * *

They've taken him to his old room, laid him in his old bed, and she's been at his side for hours now. He hasn't stirred, is barely even breathing. He's burning up with fever and yet taken with chills. He doesn't have all the symptoms, or maybe she just can't tell because he's not awake, but she has a sinking suspicion that this is the plague.

Grasping his hand tightly, she says, "I meant what I said before, Merlin. If you don't fight this, I will follow you to hell, to heaven, to purgatory, wherever you are, and I will make you regret this. Do you understand me?"

But he doesn't hear.

Pursing her lips, she dips her head. Maybe this all could have been avoided if only she had warned him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so, so sorry."

Sometimes she feels like Merlin has everything figured out, and she's still muddling her way through. It should be her in this bed, should be him trying to find a solution to this.

Gaius hurries into the room, interrupting her morbid thoughts.

He gestures with the book in his hands and says, "I may have found a way to help him."

Morgana rises quickly. "What? What is it?"

But Gaius has already anticipated her reaction. Frowning, he holds a hand up and explains, "This is dangerous magic, Morgana. We need someone who can do magic –"

"Well, let me do it, then."

"But the healer must take the victim's pain upon him or herself." The physician shakes his head. "In good conscience, I cannot let you do that. Not when you are with child, not when I promised Merlin I'd look after you."

"Does everyone around here follow his orders?" she rages unfairly. "Or only when it comes to me?"

With that, she storms from the room, leaving a shocked Gaius standing there speechlessly.

* * *

"Tell me how this happened."

"Morgana, it's hard to –"

"_What_ _happened_?"

Arthur frowns regretfully. "Honestly, I don't know," he pleads. "One minute we were fighting this sorcerer, the next minute the sorcerer was dead and Merlin had come down with plague. Morgana, I swear to you, we got him back here as soon as we could."

Morgana backs away and sinks against the wall, feeling herself suddenly supported by Gwen. What if it wasn't soon enough?

"Arthur, Morgana," the Queen says softly, "this fighting is not going to solve anything." She pulls Morgana's head against her shoulder. "Mordred will come through for us, for Merlin. I know he will."

"He doesn't like Merlin," Morgana tells them, though it's not a secret.

Arthur sighs. "If he didn't want to try to heal him, he would have flat-out refused, not pretended to try. We must keep faith."

Morgana looks up expectantly as the door opens and Hunith, Gaius, and Mordred file out. Mordred looks exhausted, with bags under his eyes and his shoulders in a slump. He looks like he's seen death. Gaius, though, has a hopeful smile on his kindly face.

"He has come through," Gaius announces. Clapping Mordred on the shoulder, he adds, "Thanks to this young fellow."

A wave of relief washes over Morgana, and she pulls Mordred into a fierce embrace. "Thank you," she whispers. "Thank you."

Hunith touches her shoulder. "He's asking for you."

Nodding, she takes a deep breath and makes her way into the study. She stops just inside the door of his old room. He's awake and sitting up, and the sight fills her with such relief that her heart nearly stops.

"You can come in, you know," he smiles.

She sits on the side of the bed and crosses her arms. "You know," she begins, "if you hadn't just saved the kingdom, I would smack you right now."

Merlin lets out a tired chuckle. Taking her hand lazily, he pulls her forward and presses a soft kiss to her lips. "Can you at least wait until I've regained my strength?" he asks sleepily as he sits back against the pillows.

"Maybe if you weren't always such a hero," she chastises gently, "you wouldn't have gotten yourself into this mess."

He smiles, seeing straight through her anger, pulls her beside him, and rests his head against her shoulder. "Lucky I always have you to drag me out then."

"Don't think you can sweet talk your way out of this, Merlin. You frightened me half-to-death."

"But I mean it," he insists. "Arthur is my king, but when he's threatened, when this kingdom is threatened, there's no one I'd rather have by my side than you."

"Then you won't leave me behind next time? Because I will refuse to stay."

He lets out a soft chuckle. "We both know you never do anything you don't want to do. I was amazed Arthur was able to stop you from coming with us to Cantia."

"He was so adamant, I thought it was for the best." With an almost petulant frown, she adds, "But he doesn't own me. He couldn't stop me from helping Gaius and Mordred."

"Mordred . . ." Merlin mumbles, "I suppose I owe him my life."

Morgana takes a deep breath and reaches up to curl her fingers into his hair. "He didn't have to help you."

"I think he did it for you."

"Maybe . . ."

"Still," he breathes, "I promised you that we'd figure this out when I got back, so if you still want me to, I'll talk to Arthur about taking him on as an apprentice."

Morgana sighs, relief flooding her veins. Perhaps, with Merlin's influence, Mordred won't become what they so fear. She kisses the crown of his head. "Thank you, Merlin."

Worn out, he closes his eyes, and she's content to leave it at that.

Sliding a hand to her stomach, he softly asks, "And how's our baby girl?"

"Our _child_," she replies with a smile, "is fine. But I've come to a conclusion recently."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"If we _do_ have a girl, we're naming her after your mother."


	13. Went Broke Believing

A/N: This chapter was tough to write, so arg, don't know if I'm happy with it, lol. But I'm only planning one chapter after this, so hopefully I can finish this up soon.

Apparently 'Hunydd' is an alternate spelling for 'Hunith,' so I used that in order to avoid confusion (mostly for myself!). Also, just pretend a navy would be feasible in the absence of firepower. :P

_

* * *

All we are, we are.__  
Every day's the start of something beautiful.  
- "All We Are," Matt Nathanson._

_

* * *

_

"Morgana," he says softly. "Morgana, wake up."

She groans, burying her nose deeper into the pillows. She's exhausted, much too tired to go to court and listen to a bunch of people complain about their problems.

"Go away," she grumbles.

Merlin, chuckling, slides a breakfast tray onto the bedside table with one hand and takes a seat on the mattress. The four-month-old girl in his arm instinctively stretches forward and reaches for her mother's hair, lying in dark waves across the blankets. "Hunydd and I brought you breakfast," he tells her.

"Just five more minutes," she mumbles.

"We have a court session in half-an-hour."

"Arthur can wait."

Merlin rolls his eyes. Shifting his daughter to one knee, he leans forward to gently shake his wife's shoulder. "I'm sure he can, but how can you resist this face?"

Sleepily, Morgana opens her eyes and sits up. She can't hide the smile on her face as she takes Hunydd in her arms and presses a kiss to her head. The baby is a bundle of pure joy, with a bright smile and shining blue eyes that make you feel like you're on the top of the world. She has pale skin, a swath of dark hair. Her features look more like Morgana's, but they still argue who she takes after in passion, in magic.

Raising her eyes to Merlin, Morgana says softly, "I hate you."

"Is it my fault you have such a weakness for the adorable?"

Morgana tickles their daughter's chin, and mother's sleepy laughter mingles with child's light giggles. "No," she replies with a significant glance at her husband, "but it is partly your fault that _this_ particular specimen of adorableness is in the world."

"Heh, I suppose so," Merlin chuckles, kissing her forehead and leaning down to ruffle Hunydd's hair.

A knock sounds at the main door, and Merlin rises to answer it.

"Mother," he greets with a smile.

"Good morning, dear," Hunith greets. "And how is my namesake this morning?"

"Lovely. Giggly. Agreeable. Though I'm not sure I can say the same for her mother."

Hunith smiles. "What's the matter?"

"You know what it's like having a baby. She's too tired to attend court."

Nodding, Hunith walks into the bedroom, where Morgana is still amusing the delighted four-month-old.

"Ah, Hunith, good morning," Morgana says with a smile as she looks up.

"Well, it is morning, but as you appear to have neither breakfasted nor dressed, I doubt it will remain good when Arthur realizes that you've failed to show up to court," Hunith chastises gently, a smile in her eyes.

Morgana, rolling her eyes, laughs softly and passes off her daughter. Sliding out of bed, she says, "All right, all right. I'm up."

"How do you do that?" Merlin asks incredulously, looking at his mother in wonder.

"Please, Merlin," Morgana chuckles as she retreats behind her dressing screen, "she had to raise _you_. She exudes authority, has no begod nonsense about her." Poking her head and bare shoulders around the screen, she smiles and adds, "You, on the other hand, can never hold your ground against me."

He frowns and glances pleadingly at Hunith, who simply shrugs and returns to amusing her grandchild.

* * *

Morgana stifles a yawn as Arthur settles a dispute between a farmer and a cooper. She enjoys her role as adviser, but sitting around and listening to people's minor squabbles is not her ideal way to spend a morning, especially when she has a newborn who is still discovering the world. She likes the thrill that comes when Camelot needs to be defended, likes to be at Arthur's side, at Merlin's side, as they fight the latest threat against the kingdom. She's good at that, good at using her power for _great_ things, for _great_ benefit.

She's not so good at feigning interest in petty matters.

She should be more like Gwen, who somehow manages to be kind and wise as she sits by Arthur's side.

Merlin pokes her discreetly in the side, and she stands a little straighter, trying her best to listen.

But her attention is soon caught by the next supplicant, a woman shrouded in a purple robe and hood. Though her face is hidden in shadow, something about her seems familiar to Morgana.

Arthur leans forward in his throne. "Show yourself," he demands gently. "We can't help you if we don't know who you are."

The mysterious woman takes a step forward and lowers her hood, revealing wavy blonde locks, dark eyes and an enigmatic smile.

"Morgause," Morgana breathes.

She hasn't seen her half-sister in years, since she had come to visit the Druid camp before her return to Camelot. She remembers the night all had been explained, all had been forgiven. All the confusion, all the shouting, even tears, followed by an overwhelming sense of relief.

Even so, even if Morgana trusts Morgause, that trust doesn't extend to Arthur. The last time he had contact with her was during her attack on Uther with the Knights of Medhir.

"State your business," Arthur says as he rises from his throne. He squares his shoulders, glares down at the sorceress.

"My business is not with you, Pendragon," Morgause smiles, "but with the Lady Morgana. And Merlin," she adds as an afterthought.

Merlin steps forward cautiously to stand beside Arthur, but Morgana walks down the dais steps to embrace her half-sister.

"What are you doing here?" Morgana asks. "I thought I'd never see you inside these walls."

"Yes, well, these are special circumstances." Morgause gently touches her sister's cheek. "I've heard that you've recently had a child."

"Yes, a girl."

Morgause turns to look at Merlin. "That is why I've come. I want to see my niece."

Arthur, crossing his arms, says, "And why should I trust you? Give me one reason I shouldn't have you arrested where you stand."

Gwen finally stands and places a hand on his arm. "Arthur," she murmurs gently, "don't you see? The reason is before you."

Softening a little, Arthur nevertheless presses, "Even if you wouldn't harm Morgana, you bear no fondness for me. How do I know you're only here on a social call?"

"That is where you are incorrect, Pendragon. I had no fondness for your father. Now that you have restored magic to its rightful place, I bear you no malice. And I have no desire to harm your son."

Gwen bites her lip, and Arthur stiffens, fear for his two-month-old heir showing clearly in his eyes.

"Peace, then," Morgana interjects, and all eyes turn to her. "Arthur, will you be content if Morgause signs a peace contract?"

The king inclines his head toward his wife. "Can one person sign a peace contract?" he whispers. "We only use formal contracts for negotiations among kingdoms."

"Arthur, will you?" Morgana emphasizes.

"Yes, of course," he answers.

"Morgause, will you sign your intention for peace?"

"You will allow me to see Hunydd?" the sorceress returns.

"Of course."

"Then yes."

"Then it is settled!"

Morgana is too taken with her victory to notice the disapproving look on Merlin's face.

* * *

She stops on her way out of the empty throne room as Merlin catches her about the waist.

With a soft sigh, Morgana looks up at her husband. "Well . . ." she prompts, knowing he has something on his mind.

"Well, what?"

"Well, you have something to say to me, so say it. I'm listening."

Merlin scrutinizes her, searching her gaze for any sign of understanding. "You really don't get it?"

Morgana rests her back against the wall. "Is this about Morgause? I know you don't like –"

"This has nothing to do with Morgause," he assures her as he leans forward and braces his hand against the wall. "She's your kin; I know what she means to you. But Morgana," he scoffs, exasperated, "you just bargained with your _child_."

"Merlin, honestly," she replies, lips pursed, "it wasn't like that."

He dips his head to touch his forehead to hers, lifts his palm to her cheek. "Wasn't it?" he asks softly. "You negotiated a peace agreement between our king and a woman he viewed as an enemy, and our daughter was a pawn."

Lifting her hands to his chest, Morgana sighs. "Do you honestly think I'm capable of such a thing?"

Smiling gently, he shakes his head. "I'm just worried, that's all. I never thought I could feel this strongly about one tiny being."

"Would you have me undo it?" she murmurs, pulling him closer. "Let Arthur continue to be suspicious of Morgause without cause? Let Morgause feel as if she weren't welcome here, among family?"

"Of course not," he responds. "I would only have you be more prudent. I fear you lose sight of the consequences because you are too focused on your goal."

Smiling, she leans up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Fine. No more bargains involving our four-month-old. I promise. But you must also promise me one thing."

"Anything for you."

Morgana slides her arms about his neck. She can tell from the kind of father he's been over the past four months, even before Hunydd was born, that this won't get any easier. He frets and worries and is there for her every single second, and she can see all the nights he'll spend shushing her to sleep, all the days he'll spend teaching her secrets of magic, all the hours he'll spend pacing as she finds her own place, stretching his patience to the breaking point in the process.

As much as he worries about Arthur and Camelot, that passion is magnified by a thousand when it comes to their daughter.

Softly, she says, "Stop worrying. We're not going to wake up tomorrow and find her grown into a young woman. We still have lots of time to get this right. Besides, you worry so much that you're starting to get a permanent crease in your brow."

He lets out a chuckle as she runs her fingers lightly over his forehead.

"I guess I'm just not used to . . . not knowing what I'm doing," he confesses with a sheepish smile.

She pecks him on the lips and says, "That's why we have each other."

* * *

As the family expands, so do nightly suppers. Gwen insists on the entire family attending, which means that she sits opposite Arthur, while Morgana, Merlin, Hunith, baby Hunydd, infant Thomas, his nurse Alethea, even Mordred and Gaius, and now Morgause too, sit around the supper table. It's sheer chaos.

Morgana recalls the meals she used to share with Uther and Arthur – so quiet, so staid, so dull. Uther had loved his son, but he'd known nothing about true family.

Arthur and Gwen, though, have turned family into a celebration. She leans over to ruffle Thomas's hair, glances across the table just as Morgause, eyes dancing, scandalizes Merlin with a quiet remark. Morgana smiles. This is her life, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

Morgana wakes with a start, sucking in lungfuls of air like she's breaking through the surface of a lake.

Merlin's awake almost as swiftly as if the nightmare had been his own.

"Morgana! Morgana, what is it?"

She leans into him, finding comfort in his arms around her, the gentle whisper of his breath against her ear.

"Hey," he murmurs, "what happened? What did you see?"

Taking a deep breath, she calms herself before saying, "Arthur is in trouble."

* * *

Arthur stands at the window, still in his bedclothes, his hair rumpled from sleep. "How long do we have?" he asks.

"I don't know," Morgana admits. "A few days, maybe a week at the most."

He turns, glances between her and Merlin. "And they attack from the northwest?"

Morgana frowns. Foot soldiers, even cavalry, from the northwest they can deal with. What they may not be able to deal with – what she's afraid of – is the part of her dream she hasn't disclosed yet.

"Yes," she confirms hesitantly, "but they're also coming from the south."

"They're attacking from the_ sea_?"

The look in Arthur's eyes gives away his alarm. Camelot's navy is subpar. If their resources are tied up in the attack from the north, their sailors will be slaughtered, what ships they have will be destroyed. They'll be lost before they've begun.

"We've faced worse odds before," Merlin says with quiet determination.

Morgana stares at him, takes in his sleep-deprived posture, his heavy eyes, his wrinkled tunic. How he manages to be so optimistic is a mystery to her, but she needs it right now, needs that strength, as does Arthur.

"Isn't that right?" the king chuckles.

Morgana, seeing the slight smiles on both of their faces, joins in, and the restrained laughter reminds her that they've gotten out of worse situations, always together.

"It's late," Arthur finally says, "or early, I suppose. We should all get some rest. We're going to need our strength come tomorrow morning."

Merlin nods and turns to leave the room as Morgana kisses her foster brother on the cheek.

"We will get through this, Arthur."

He smiles grimly. "We always do."

* * *

The breakfast table is quiet, the only sounds Hunydd's quiet babbling as Morgause amuses her.

Morgana picks at her breakfast, Merlin watching her carefully out of the corner of his eye, his gaze flicking between his wife and daughter. Gwen holds Thomas in her lap as she feeds him and pretends that she's not sneaking wary glances around the table.

Merlin stands as Arthur walks in, shoulders square and expression solemn.

"Time to get started," he announces.

"Arthur, at least have some breakfast," Gwen urges.

He smiles, accepting the biscuits she presses into her hand. He turns back to the table and, crooking fingers at each of them in turn, says, "I need all of you. Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, Morgause. Come on. The knights are already waiting."

His three advisers rise and follow him, but Morgause doesn't move.

When Morgana realizes her half-sister isn't coming, she turns and says, "Morgause."

Morgause shakes her head, bouncing Hunydd in her arms. "I promised him my peace, but I never promised my loyalty."

Morgana takes a step back into the room. She wants to argue, to persuade. Her sister would be a valuable asset in the coming conflict. But Morgause is silently determined, and Merlin holds her back with a hand on his wife's arm.

With a dejected sigh, Morgana turns, leaves her sister to her fate, and follows her king.

* * *

The morning sun shines in through the window, brightening the room. Morgana, dressed in chainmail, a sword strapped to her waist, leans over the wooden crib and gazes down at her sleeping daughter.

She never thought, before she first found out she was with child, that she'd have such stirrings of matronly affection. But every single second Hunydd has been in this world has proved her wrong. The world has taken on a completely new meaning for her. She feels like she's rediscovering it through her daughter's eyes.

Which is why she has to protect Camelot, so that this little life she's helped to create can grow up in the world that Arthur's struggling to bring into being, a world where magic is not hated, where goodness and honor are valued above all things, where people can be who they desire to be.

Morgana lets out a deep sigh, stretches out a hand to brush Hunydd's hair off her forehead. She's so peaceful, so innocent. The slumbering babe has no idea what's about to take place, how her life may change in the course of a few hours.

Leaning down, she presses a soft kiss to Hunydd's forehead. "Goodbye, my little fay," she murmurs. "Sleep well."

Sending up a silent prayer, she takes one last look before turning away and walking off to face the day, to face the battle, to face her destiny.

* * *

A chilly wind whips up as Morgana, Merlin, and Balin dismount, and the small company of soldiers they've led toward the sea begin to set up a temporary camp. Arthur and Mordred have gone north with Gawain and the majority of the army to cut off the land attack. But the autumn sky is overcast, and the wind is in the east, and there's a tight feeling in the pit of Morgana's stomach that she doesn't trust.

Merlin stands on the edge of the shore, his eyes turned toward the horizon. Camelot's fleet is small, but certainly nothing to sneer at, especially when considering the caliber of the sailors on board.

And with Merlin and Morgana there, the hope is that their magic will be enough to supplement the naval force.

Noting the tension in his shoulders, Morgana walks over to him. He's lost in thought, but he relaxes slightly when she places a hand on his back. They've been in this situation before, and somehow words always seem inadequate. So they stand side-by-side and wait for any sign of the enemy.

The waves begin to roil as the wind picks up and the sky darkens. Morgana, sensing a pulse of recognizable magic, turns in time to see a swirl of sand as it materializes into a person.

"Morgause!" she cries, running toward her sister. "Morgause, what are you doing here?"

Hardly daring to believe what she's seeing, Morgana pulls her into a tight embrace.

Morgause pulls away to cup her cheek. "My loyalty may not lay with Arthur, but it does lay with you." Looking to Merlin, who stands a few feet away, she nods and says, "I'm ready. I will aid you in any way I can."

He holds out a hand. "Then we welcome your help."

The three of them turn toward the sea, ready to face whatever comes.

* * *

There's a moment, right before Morgana falls asleep, right before she submits to the pervading exhaustion snaking its way through her bones, when her mind fills with the noise of the battle, with the unending clash of steel and whoosh of arrows, with the cries of the wounded and the shouts of the enraged. The memories fill her, blot out her thoughts.

And then Merlin, already sleeping, worms a lanky arm around her waist, and the images dissipate. Instead of pain, she sees peace. Instead of fighting, she sees Hunydd's smiling face. And instead of the cold wind across her cheek, the spray of the salt sea on her face, she feels the gentle rise and fall of Merlin's chest against her back, the warmth of his breath against her neck.

And in that moment, the world, so quickly fading to black, rights itself.

* * *

Arthur smiles as he hands Morgause onto her horse.

"Camelot is indebted to you," he tells her sincerely. "And you will always be welcome here."

Morgause inclines her head. She needs neither the transportation nor the invitation, but she accepts them gratefully all the same. "Thank you, Arthur. You are nothing like your father."

He crosses his arms, a slight smirk on his face, but acknowledges the compliment without a word.

Morgana steps beside him to bid her half-sister farewell.

Morgause, leaning down from the horse to embrace the younger woman, says quietly, "Goodbye, sister. Take care of that darling daughter, and that husband of yours."

"I will," Morgana replies with a soft chuckle, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You can be sure of it."

Morgause sits back up and trots off, out of the courtyard, and Morgana and Arthur turn back toward their spouses. Merlin slides his hand into hers as they meander up the castle steps and back inside.

"She will be back," he assures her.

"I know," she smiles before pecking him on the lips and walking with him up to the nursery, where they're greeted by Hunith and their giggling baby girl.

Sometimes, Morgana allows herself to get distracted by the big things in life, the things that overshadow and eclipse. She gets caught up in the glory of battle, the thirst that comes with always being the hero. And she forgets what really matters.

But sometimes, all she needs is to feel the touch of her husband, to hear the nonsensical babble of her daughter, and that's more than enough to remind herself how lucky she is.


	14. With You, I Am Home

A/N: Whew! Well, this was only supposed to be two chapters. I have no idea where those extra twelve came from, but I sincerely hope you enjoyed the ride! This is basically an epilogue-ish chapter to tie everything together and fill in some gaps I haven't gotten to.

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. I really do love hearing your thoughts! Special thanks to **Catindahat**, **Kizzia**, **MegElemental**, **Mnemosyne77, Rashaka**, **Terapsina**, **WinterStorrm **- all of whom reviewed every chapter, most chapters, or more than one chapter. (If I missed anyone, I apologize.) And double thanks to **Mnem**, who participated in this prompt fic challenge with me. I'm still amazed that our stories turned out so differently (although I admit to losing the prompt way back in chapter four on this one, haha.) Do go check out her epic, _I Love to Serve_, if you haven't already.

Now that this story's done, I do have a few more ideas floating around in my head. I have plans for three very different one-shots, all with a Merlin/Morgana bent. With the end of the semester right around the corner, I'm not sure when I'm going to have time to write them, but be sure to keep an eye out for them!

* * *

_For me it's a glance, and the smile on your face  
The touch of your hands, and an honest embrace  
For where I lay, it's you I keep,  
This changing world I fall asleep  
With you, all I know is  
I'm coming home.  
- "Home," Vanessa Carlton_

_

* * *

_

Morgana leans against the archway, arms crossed and a smile on her face as she watches her husband chase their newly-crawling daughter around their chambers.

"You spoil her, you know."

Without looking up or pausing in his pursuit, Merlin grins and answers, "I know. But she's our first-born daughter. She is healthy, intelligent, and beautiful. It is my God-given _duty_ to spoil her."

She laughs. "Yes, but among you, your mother, Gwen, Morgause, even Arthur, this poor child will grow up to be like me."

Merlin turns his head. "What? Beautiful and passionate? With a noble heart? Then I welcome it! Let's spoil her rotten!"

"I'm serious, Merlin," Morgana protests feebly as she uncrosses her arms and walks inside the room.

Merlin, still smiling, catches Hunydd in his arms and spins her about, and the little girl giggles in delight.

"So am I," he says, walking over to Morgana. "We already know she's inherited your beauty. If she grows up and also has your heart, your spirit, then I will feel more than blessed. Although," he adds as an afterthought, "if your alarming tendency to act before thinking happens to skip a generation, I can't say I'll be disappointed."

Rolling her eyes, she pushes him gently on the shoulder.

"You better watch it, my love," she says with a smirk as she makes to move past him, "or you'll be back in your old quarters tonight."

Unfazed by the threat, Merlin shifts Hunydd to one arm, catches her about the waist, and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

"Mmm," Morgana murmurs, eyes closed in contentment, "apology accepted."

* * *

The first time Hunydd does magic is when she's three days old, and the toy horse Mordred's carved for her starts to rock on its own.

The first time Hunydd does magic on purpose (they think; it's still hard to tell) is when she's just over a year old. She's sitting in a chair Merlin's commissioned from the carpenter, watching curiously as her parents squabble.

"Honestly, Merlin," Morgana fumes quietly, refusing to look at her husband as she twists her hair onto her head, "I haven't seen you in four days and you choose to spend your afternoon off _reading_?"

She scowls, and not even the sight of the beautiful spring day through the window can lighten her expression. He's been off on some fool's errand with Arthur and Mordred for the past four days, and the only thing he wants to do is bury his nose in some damn book.

Merlin, lying on the bed with his head propped up against a pillow, doesn't even look up. "We've been riding all morning and half the night. I'm sorry if I'd just like to relax."

"It used to be that you'd relax in my presence, not need to ignore me in order to do so."

His brow knots. "Morgana . . ."

Rolling her eyes, she gathers up the plans for the new village school that are spread out over the table. She'd been planning to ask his opinion and finalize them before showing Arthur, but, as Merlin has no interest in talking to her, she can work on them just as well in the library. There, it will be quiet, and she will at least be out of his hair.

"I hope you and your books are very happy together," she tells him, her voice colder than she means it to be.

"Come, Morgana. You are overreacting," he protests weakly. "I don't object to you being here. In fact, why don't you come read with me?"

"I need to finish these plans. At least Arthur pays attention to me," she replies with pursed lips.

She moves to leave the room, but her attention is caught when the book Merlin's been reading floats past her eye line. She turns to regard him curiously, but he's already sitting up in bed, a tinge of anger etched into his features.

"You didn't . . . ?" she trails off.

"Well, you didn't have to take my book," he complains.

"I didn't take your book!"

Understanding dawns on his face, and, simultaneously, they turn their bewildered gazes upon Hunydd, sitting neglected in the middle of the room. She's giggling, her eyes wide and her fingers waggling as she follows the tome's progress until it finally drops onto the floor with a _thud_.

Morgana's eyebrows shoot up as she watches her daughter. "Did you teach her that?" she asks Merlin.

"No!" he shakes his head with a smile. "But did she just do what I think she did? On purpose?"

"I think so."

Scrambling to his feet, he lets out a peal of laughter, sweeps Hunydd into his arms, and bestows a kiss on her forehead.

"Well, my little fay," he says, "it looks like you take after me after all!"

Morgana crosses her arms. "Wait a minute. We don't know that she _doesn't_ take after me yet. We simply have to wait a little longer to find out.'

"Well, I think you'd agree, love, that since this ability manifested first, it will obviously be her strongest. Therefore, she takes after me."

"That's absurd. Her strongest abilities will need time to develop, which means that the first ability she shows will be her weakest."

"No, that's just . . . silly," Merlin stammers. Looking down at Hunydd, he says, "Tell your mother she's being ridiculous. You obviously inherited _my_ magic."

With a roll of her eyes, Morgana stretches her hand out to brush Hunydd's hair back from her forehead and opens her mouth to continue the argument.

Down the corridor, a queen is celebrating her king's return with a warm embrace. Only here, in this room, in this marriage, is a quarrel a testament to affection. Only here can a wife express differing opinions than that of her husband and still draw a smile from him.

But a relationship where both parties agree all the time quickly grows stale, boring.

Watching Merlin turn red as he tries to defend his position, Morgana grins.

After all, what's life without a little spice?

* * *

There's a balance they're still learning to achieve.

Their advising duties are important. After all, Arthur's trying to carve out a kingdom, built on truth and justice, and he needs their help. But sometimes they're so busy that they barely see Hunydd all day.

Even knowing that Hunith is looking after her little girl doesn't stop the ache in her heart when she's away all day – or for days at a time – on royal business. At the least, she and Merlin try to take turns running back to their chambers for a mid-day visit.

Tonight, Merlin's sneaked out of a state dinner to spend more time with their daughter, and Morgana is finding it difficult to concentrate on the conversation taking place around her.

Gwen clears her throat and gently pokes her in the arm. "Are you feeling all right, Morgana?"

Morgana offers a smile. "Just a little tired, that's all."

"No one will be offended if you retire early. Why don't you go get some rest?"

"Thank you, my Queen."

As she rises, so does Arthur. He takes her by the arm and, leaning in, says quietly, "Will you check on Thomas for me?"

"Of course. Good night."

"Sleep well, Morgana."

She makes her way through the castle, up the stairs, and down the corridor to the set of rooms she and her husband share. Exhausted by the day, by the dinner, she's not prepared for the sight that greets her.

Merlin, apparently worn out as well, is already sleeping, and curled up against his chest is Hunydd, her face buried in his shirt, her small hand latching on to his finger.

Her heart swelling, Morgana tiptoes across the room and leans down to plant a kiss on each of their foreheads. Tenderly, she scoops the child into her arms. Hunydd whimpers softly, stirring into a more comfortable position her chest, but she doesn't wake.

"Hush, now," Morgana whispers, her breath teasing Hunydd's soft dark locks.

She carries her down the hall to the nursery, places her gently in her crib, and tucks the blankets around her. Thomas is already sleeping soundly in the neighboring crib, his nurse keeping watch from a rocking chair in the corner.

A smile tugging at her lips, she leans over the crib and reaches down to run a thumb across Hunydd's pale cheek.

"Daddy's mine tonight, okay, love?" she murmurs. "But in a few days, King Iwan and Queen Eleanor will be gone, and you, Daddy, and I will go for a picnic. How does that sound?"

She lets out a tired sigh before bending down to kiss her cheek.

"Sweet dreams, my fay."

Quietly, she tiptoes from the room, bidding Alethea good night on the way out. Back in her room, she quickly strips out of her dress, dons a nightgown, and slips into bed. Merlin's still fast asleep, and she settles comfortably against him, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Instinctively, Merlin shifts and winds an arm around her.

She sighs contentedly, amazed at how his touch can make the exhaustion seep out her bones, glad to simply be back in his arms.

* * *

The late-February day is unseasonably warm, and, as Arthur is busy training with his knights and Merlin is off teaching Mordred the ways of a sorcerer, Morgana and Hunydd decide to take advantage of the good weather and the leisure time. Hunydd, who is just a couple months shy of her second birthday, latches onto Morgana's hand and toddles her way through the forest on chubby legs that are becoming steadier with each passing day.

Mother and child have donned matching green cloaks for their morning excursion, the color blending in with the evergreens surrounding them. Morgana, a smile on her fair face, carries a picnic basket in one hand and guides her daughter with the other.

For one so young, Hunydd has taken a surprisingly-quick liking to the forest. She snatches at the insects that flit past her face, giggles in delight when Morgana offers a new flower to sniff, and insists on running her tiny hands and fingers over the bark and leaves of the trees and plants whenever they happen upon a new species – all with a dazzling look of wonder on her face.

Yes, Morgana decides, this is one thing in which she definitely takes after Merlin. And so they head toward the lake, Merlin's favorite spot and a spot that Hunydd has yet to know.

As they approach the bank, Morgana hears a pair of familiar voices.

Is that . . . Mordred? And _Merlin_?

Morgana stops walking abruptly, and Hunydd looks up in surprise. Holding a finger to her lips, she crouches down next to the toddler as they spy through the trees.

Sure enough, her husband is reclining against a tree, his eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun as he peels an apple with a knife. A few feet in front of him, Mordred sits cross-legged on a rock, lazily dangling a fishing line into the water. He's eighteen now, grown into a strapping young man, with pale features, intense grey eyes, and dark hair. Though he's less lanky and angular than Merlin, he could nearly pass as his brother.

Since Merlin began mentoring Mordred, the tension between them seems to have cooled slightly. They're still formal, not as good friends as Merlin and Arthur are, but still, it's progress. And Mordred's been happier than she's ever seen him.

Morgana narrows her eyes. "He's supposed to be teaching him magic," she whispers, more to herself than to Hunydd.

Hunydd simply giggles quietly, and Morgana goes back to watching the scene.

"Do you like it?" Mordred asks curiously.

"Like what?" Merlin responds without even opening his eyes. He pops a slice of apple into his mouth.

"Being married."

Merlin opens one eye to peer at his apprentice before quickly returning to his nonchalant bearing. "'Course I like it. Why?"

Mordred shrugs. "No reason."

Merlin sits up and glances suspiciously at the youth. Twisting his lips thoughtfully, he says, "You know that feeling you get after a battle, when you've beaten incredible odds and you're incredibly exhausted, but you can't rest because you're just running on energy and exhilaration?" When Mordred nods, Merlin grins and continues, "It's way better than that."

Mordred rearranges his fishing line before asking, "Does it matter to you? That she has magic?"

Merlin frowns, looking puzzled. "No. I mean, we share a connection because of magic, but that's not _why_ I love her. I wouldn't love her any less if she had no magic."

Mordred finally turns around to look at his mentor. "So you don't think it matters if one person has magic and the other doesn't?"

"Is this about a girl?" Merlin asks with a smirk. A blush rises to Mordred's pale cheeks. Merlin chuckles. "Well, give it up," he says. "Who is it, then?"

Mordred smiles, and Morgana marvels at the sight. She's never seen them so relaxed together. She's never even seen them tease each other like this.

"You're not going to make me guess, are you?" Merlin complains.

Mordred lets out an exaggerated sigh. Hesitantly, he prompts, "Do you know Allison?"

"Gwen's lady-in-waiting?"

Mordred nods, and Merlin's grin grows.

"Well, what's the matter?" Merlin asks. "Why don't you go talk to her?"

"She won't take me seriously," he shrugs.

"Mordred, you're a junior apprentice to the king. How can she not take you seriously?"

"I'm only eighteen. She's older than I."

"Trust me," Merlin says, waving his knife to emphasize his point, "just talk to her, get to know her. She'll listen."

"Is that how it happened with you and Morgana?"

Merlin tilts his head. "Er . . ."

"You were just a servant, I mean. How did you get her to notice you?"

"I didn't do anything," Merlin shrugs. "We just kind of came together, almost like we had to. Look," he continues, swiping a hand over his face as he struggles to explain, "maybe you shouldn't take us as examples. We're not exactly normal."

Mordred pulls his line from the lake and turns to look at his teacher. Even with his back to her, Morgana can imagine the intensity of his steely gaze.

"But, I see the way you act around each other, and it makes me wonder whether that's possible for everyone."

Morgana's heart nearly breaks at the confession. Mordred's always been an old soul, wise beyond his years, and that's isolated him. But even as she and Merlin and Gaius have struggled to show him that he has a family, if not a natural one, she's underestimated the importance of that kind of companionship that only stems from true affection between two people. She hopes he'll get to experience that soon, whether with Allison or with a woman who understands him. And she fervently hopes Merlin will help him with his crush on Allison.

After all, no one's meant to be alone.

"Yeah," Merlin answers, his voice low, "it's possible. But if you like this girl, you should show her."

"How?"

"Bring her flowers. Or, if she likes to read, find a book she hasn't read yet, and tell her you think she'd like it. Just, show her you think about her."

Mordred nods, contemplating, and Morgana sees her chance as the boys sink into thoughtful silence.

"Hunydd," she whispers, "do you see that apple Daddy's eating?"

The girl nods, a mischievous smile on her face that she's inherited from her mother. "I take it?" she suggests, looking more excited at the prospect of playing a prank on her father than any twenty-two-month-old should.

"Exactly," Morgana grins. "Do you think you can?"

"Uh-huh," giggles Hunydd.

She stretches out a small hand and scrunches up her face in concentration, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. In a blink, the apple flies from Merlin's loose grip to Hunydd's outstretched hand, and the men's attention snaps toward the brush they're hiding behind.

"Very good," Morgana praises as her daughter laughs. Lifting Hunydd into her arms and standing up, she calls, "Don't worry. It's just us. We were passing by on our way for a picnic when we heard your voices, and Hunydd here decided to play a little trick on you. Isn't that right, love?"

Hunydd, beaming, holds up the half-eaten fruit and laughs, "I magicked your apple, Daddy."

"I see that," he says with a smile, standing and meeting them by the bank of the lake. Teasingly, he tweaks her nose and adds, "But if you were that hungry, my fay, all you had to do was ask!"

Hunydd laughs again as she shifts into her father's arms.

Merlin glances at Morgana suspiciously. "Were you spying on us?"

"Of course not. We were just passing by," Morgana scoffs with a gleam in her eye as she takes a seat beside Mordred. Turning to him, she asks, "Isn't he supposed to be teaching you magic?"

Before Mordred can respond, Merlin plops down beside her, Hunydd on his lap, and says, "Ah, but sometimes teaching is the _absence_ of a lesson."

Morgana chuckles. "Of course. Well, Hunydd and I were about to have a picnic. We have enough food to share if you'd like," she offers, gesturing to the basket she's brought along. "That is, if you aren't already full from all the fish you've caught."

This time it's Mordred who pipes up. "It is not the number of fish caught," he tells her with mock sagacity, "but the amount of wisdom gained."

"Do you teach him things like this?" Morgana asks her husband with a laugh.

"Maybe," he replies with a smirk. "Maybe it's just the ancient knowledge inherently passed down from male to male in the traditional act of fishing."

"Please," she teases, "you don't even like fishing."

"That's why _he_ does the fishing," Merlin chuckles, nodding to Mordred.

Mordred laughs. "And _he_ does the sitting under a tree and watching."

Morgana shakes her head with a smile. They definitely have a strange mentor-student relationship, but it works for them. And no matter how ridiculous they are some times, they're her boys.

She wouldn't trade them for all the gold in the kingdom.

* * *

Morgana laughs softly as she watches Hunydd chase Thomas around the courtyard. The children are so young, so innocent. She sometimes wonders whether Hunydd has any idea of the implications behind the power she possesses.

But then, as Merlin would remind her, she's _two_.

She hears her husband making his way down the corridor, can tell from the soft tread of his footsteps, and something in the air shifts as he slips into the alcove.

"I thought you might be here," he says softly, sidling up next to her at the window and placing a hand on her back. "I only have a few moments, though. Arthur and I are supposed to take the princess's knights on a tour of the kingdom."

"Yes," she replies quietly, "and Gwen and I are to entertain the princess."

She sighs.

Visiting royals . . .

"What's the matter?" he asks. "I mean, besides that you have to act like a proper lady for a few days," he teases.

Keeping her gaze on the courtyard, Morgana asks, "Do you ever stop to think about it? I don't think I've quite understood what she's going to be until I've really stopped and actually tried to comprehend it."

"Think about what?"

"_Hunydd_, Merlin," she answers, looking up into his sea-blue eyes. "She's going to be more powerful than either of us."

His brow furrows slightly. "Does that worry you?"

She pauses thoughtfully and rests a hand on his chest. "I think it would have . . . ten years ago, before Uther was gone, before I had you."

"Morgana," he murmurs, sliding a hand to her cheek, "I never would have let your power destroy you, just as we will not let it change our daughter."

She smiles, marveling at how he can calm her heart with just a few words, and presses a soft kiss to his lips. "And I know you always keep your promises."

"That I do," he chuckles. He kisses her briefly again before pulling away. "I'm sorry, but I'm due at the stables. I'll see you at supper, though."

She nods. Smiling, he kisses her once more, a lingering goodbye kiss this time.

Sometimes all they have is a stolen moment in an alcove, but sometimes a moment is enough.

* * *

Morgana, letting out a soft sigh, settles into a more comfortable position. At the crest of a small hill, Merlin sits against a tree with her head pillowed in his lap, one hand of his resting on her stomach, swollen with child.

It's a beautiful late summer day – a gentle breeze wafts through the trees, the grass is soft against her skin, and the warm afternoon air provokes the most contented feeling of exhaustion. Her eyelids feeling heavier by the moment, she curls up and closes her eyes.

"Mmm . . ." she murmurs softly.

_This_, she thinks idly as she begins to drift into a lazy slumber, _this is what bliss must feel like_.

Merlin absentmindedly curls a lock of her hair around his finger.

"What's the matter?" she asks sleepily, her eyes still closed.

"Nothing."

"Liar," Morgana accuses gently. "You only twist my hair like that when you're thinking deeply about something."

He lets out a soft snort of laughter. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Only to me."

With a sigh, she sits up and scoots beside him, slipping her hand into his and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"I was just thinking about how far we've come," he tells her.

"And?" she prompts, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Without Arthur, I would still be a lowly servant, pining for you from afar. I just . . . it's hard to believe that, after all we've been through, we lead a life like this. We can sit here without a care in the world." He lets out a deep breath, smiling. "And we have a beautiful daughter."

"With another child on the way," she adds happily, resting her hands on top of his over her stomach. She lifts her head and adds, "But you're being too hard on yourself. Arthur would not be the king he is today without you."

"But we wouldn't be the family we are without him."

"Two sides of the same coin," Morgana murmurs contemplatively.

Before Merlin has a chance to respond, the sound of laughter fills the air. They turn in time to see three-year-old Hunydd racing up the hill, closely pursued by Thomas and his nurse, Alethea, who carries Arthur and Gwen's younger son William, still just an infant.

Hunydd, with a playful battle cry, launches herself upon her mother and shouts, "Mama! We're going to be late for the Michaelmas festival!"

"Nonsense, love, we still have lots of time," Morgana assures her.

Merlin tweaks his daughter's nose. "Don't worry. Arthur wouldn't dream of letting it start without you."

Hunydd giggles, settling onto Morgana's lap as Thomas toddles over to Merlin and looks up at him with wide eyes.

"All right," Merlin laughs, "you, too. Come here."

And he scoops the boy up in his arms.

"Maybe we should start heading back," he tells his wife.

She nods, and the six set off toward the castle again.

Hunydd, walking between her parents and swinging Morgana's hand, queries, "Is Aunt Morgause going to come with us to the festival?"

"She is," Morgana answers.

"Mordred too?"

"Mm-hmm."

In fact, Morgana can't think of one person who _won't_ be at the festival. The king and queen of course, because they're the type of rulers admired by the people, the type of rulers who take part in what matters to the common people. Gaius and Hunith will be there, as well as Alice, Caleb, and their children. She's even had word from Regulus that he means to attend.

The entire kingdom will be at the celebration, and there's excitement in the air as the party strolls through the streets on their return to the castle. As they walk, Morgana turns to look at Merlin, catching the gleam in his eye in the afternoon sun.

He's right. This isn't the life she would have pictured for herself all those years ago. They'd both been scared, been confused, been looking for a place to belong.

She smiles, feeling a familiar sense of peace suffuse her heart.

She's finally found it in him.


End file.
